
aassJEB^.4iao 



Book laSV 

PRESENTED Wi' 



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A 



I 



THE COMPLETE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS 

WITH 

EXPLANATORY AND GLOSSAKIAL NOTES; 

AND A 

LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 

B Y J A ]VI E S C U R R I E, M. D. 

THE ONLY COMPLETE AMERICAN EDITION. 



N"EW-YORK : 
D. APPLETON <fc CO., 200 BROADWAY. 

M DCCC LI. 



1- 



N-- 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



In the present day it would be a superfluous 
f?isk to eulogise the poetry of Burns. No sooner 
had he given utterance to his exquisite strains, 
than they found an echo in the palace and the 
cottage. Men heard in them the voice of a 
master-poet — of one of those great minds who 
exercise an influence on the manners and senti- 
ments of a people ; and even before he died, his 
country did honour to his surpassing genius, and 
inscribed his name as the greatest of her minstrels, 
an award which has been continued with in- 
creasing reverence to the present day. And 
though other poets should arise to divide the na- 
tional homage, still every succeeding age will 
continue to admire the truth and beauty of his 
sentiments and descriptions, upon the same prin- 
ciple that they will admire the simple manners 
and romantic scenery by which his inspiration was 
kindled, and which his patriotic heart loved to 
celebrate. To be dead to the poetry of Burns, is 
to be dead to Nature itself. 

In reprinting the poetical works of one so dis- 
tinguished in our national literature, the PuVlishers 
considered it their duty to collate the various 
editions of his works, and to collect together the 



ly ADVERTISEMENT, 

various poems which are the admitted productions 
of Burns, so as to render the present edition more 
complete than even the most expensive. The 
whole has been carefully revised, and edited by 
one of our most talented living authors of Scot- 
tish Song; and to make the dialect and allusions 
fully accessible to English readers, glossarial de- 
finitions, and notes illustrative of the manners 
and customs which are described, have been 
added — not heaped together at the end, to fatigue 
the patience of the reader by a continual reference 
to the vocabulary — but subjoined to their respec- 
tive pages, where they can be seen at a glance, 
in connexion with the text. In addition to these, 
the Life of the Author, by the late Dr. Currie, 
of Liverpool, whose account, notwithstanding the 
numerous biographies of the poet which have 
been published, has never been surpassed, has 
been prefixed ; and although it has been con- 
siderably abridged, still few particulars of any im- 
portance have been omitted. These advantages, 
combined with elegance and economy, will, it is 
hoped, secure a favourable reception for this edi- 
tion of Burns' Poems, not only among his coun- 
trymen, but the public at large. 



CONTENTS. 



Preface to the First Edition . . .1 

Dedication to the Second Edition . . 3 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The Twa Dogs « 

Tam O'Shanter 12 

Death and Dr. Hornbook 20 

The Cotter's Saturday Night . . . .27 

Halloween ....-••• 3* 

Scotch Drink 44 

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch 
Representatives in the House of Commons . 48 

Postscript 53 

The Vision 55 

A Dream 64 

Address to the Deil 68 

Address to Edinburgh 73 

Address to the Shade of Thomson . . . J5 
The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate ChUd . ib. 

To a Haggis . 77 

Address to the Tooth-ache 78 

To a Posthumous Child, born in peculiar circum- 
stances of distress 79 

To a Mountain Daisy 80 

To a Mouse 82 

Lines on scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch-Turit 84 
Sonnet, Avritteu January 25, 1793, the birth-day 

of the Author . . . • • • -85 
Verses on seeing a wounded hare limp by rae, 

which a fellow had just shot at . . . ib. 

The Auld Farmer's New-Year morning salutation 

to his Auld Mare Maggie 80 

The Death and dying Words of Poor Mailie . 90 

Poor Mailic's Elegy , ^ 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water . . 93 



Ti CONTENTS 

Tbe Brigs of Ajt 96 

Lines wijtten with a pencil, standing by the Fall 

of Fyers, near Loch-Ness .... 104 

Lines written with a pencil, over the chimney- 
piece, in the parlovu- of an inn at Kenmore, 

Taymouth lb. 

Inscription for an altar to Independence . . 105 

On Pastoral Poetry 108 

On the late Captain Grose's Peregi-inations 

through Scotland 107 

Verses written at Selkirk 110 

Liberty. — A Fragment 112 

I'he Vowels. — A Tale ib. 

Fragment, inscribed to the Right Hon, C.J. Fox 113 

Sketch 115 

Scots Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's lienefit 

night, Dumfries ib. 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland, on 

New-year Day Evening 117 

Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods, on his benefit 

night 118 

Tragic Fragment . 119 

Remorse. — A Fragment 120 

Ode on the Biith-day of Prince Charles Edward 121 
Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle . . . ib. 

The Rights of Woman 123 

Verses written under the Portrait of Fergusson, 

the Poet 124 

The Henpecked Husband ib. 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . . 125 
A Prayer, left in a room of a Reverend Friend's 

house, where the Author slept . . . 126 

A Prayer, under the pressure of violent anguish 127 
A Prayer, in the prospect of Death . . .128 
Stanzas on the same occasion . . . , ib. 

The First Psalm 129 

The first six verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . 130 

A Grace before Dinner 131 

Verses Avritten in Friar's Car.ie Hermitage on 

Nith-side ib, 

Winter.— A Dirge . . ... 133 



CONTENTS. Til 

Pafffl 

Man was made to mourn. — A Dirge . . . 133 

Despondency. — ^An Ode 130 

To Ruin . . 138 

A Winter Night I39 

The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate issue 

of a Fiiend's amour 142 

Lament, wi-itten when the Author was about to 

leave his native coimtry 144 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn . . 145 

Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord . . . 147 
Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots . , . 143 

EPISTLES. 

Epistles to James Smith 150 

To John Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard . .155 

To the same 160 

To the same 164 

Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet . . . 166 

To the same 170 

To Mr. William Tytler 172 

To William Simpson, Ochiltree . . . 173 

Postscript 176 

To John Goudie, Kilmarnock .... 179 

To J. Rankine 180 

To the same 182 

To Dr. Blacklock 18.3 

To Colonel De Peyster 185 

To a Tailor 180 

The Inventory ; in answer to a mandate by Mr. 

Aiken, surveyor of taxes .... 18J> 

To J~s T— t, Gl-nc-r 191 

To a Gentleman who had sent him a Newspaper, 

and offered to continue it free of expense . 193 

To Gavin Hamilton, Esq 195 

To the same 198 

To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintra . . .200 

To the same 202 

To the sar->e- on receiving a favour . . . 405 
To Mrs. DunJop, on New-year's Day . . . ib. 
To the same, on Sensibility .... 207 
To a young Friend ib. 



viii CONTENTS. 






Page. 
To the Rev. John M'Math 210 




To Mr. M'AdaTn, of Craigen-Gillan 


213 




To Terrau^hty, on his Birth-day .... 


214 




To Captain Riddel, Glenriddel .... 


215 




To Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise, Dumfries 


ib. 




To a Gentleman whom he had offended 


217 




To an old Sweetheart, after her marriage, with 






a present of a copy of his Poems 


ib. 




To Miss Log-an, with Beattie's Poems, as a New- 






year's Gift 


ib. 




To a Young- Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, 






with a present of Books 


218 




To a Young Lady, with a present of Songs 


ib. 




To a Young- Lady, with a present of a pair of 






Drinking- Glasses . . . ^ • 


219 




To Miss Cruickshanks, with a present of a Book 


ib. 




To a Lady, whom the Author had often cele- 






brated under the name of Chloris 


220 




To Mrs. Scott, of Wauchope-House 


221 




SATIRES. 






The Holy Fair 


223 




The Ordination 


231 




Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 






Righteous 


235 




The twa Herds 


237 




The Kirk's Alarm 


210 




Holy Willie's Prayer 


243 




Epitaph on Holy Willie . . . . • 


246 




The Calf, to the Reverend Mr. . 


247 




To a Louse 


218 




Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. of 


249 




Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice . > 


250 




KLEGIES. 






Elegy on Miss Burnett, of Monhoddo . 


251 




On the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq. . 


252 




On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair . 


253 




On Reading, in a Newspaper, the Death of John 






M'Leod, Esq 


254 






« 


; 



CONTENTS. ix 

Page. 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson . . 255 

Epitaph 258 

Tarn Samson's Eleg-y 2G0 

The Epitaph 263 

On a Scottish Bard, gone to the West Indies . ib. 

Elegy on the year 1788 265 

Elegy on the Death ot Robert Ruisseaux . . 267 
Elegy on the Death of Peg Nicholson . . ib. 

EPIGRAMS, &C. 

OnElphinstone's translation of Martial's Epigrams 268 
Extempore, written in a Lady's Pocket Book. . ' ib. 
Vei-ses written on the Windows of the Globe 

Tavern, Dumfries • ib. 

Epigram on Captain Grose 209 

Extempore, in answer to an Invitation to spend 

an hour at a Tavern ib. 

Epigram, on his treatment at Inverary . . 270 
A verse presented to the Master of a House in 

the Highlands ib. 

The Toast, written on a glass tumbler, and pre- 
sented to Miss Jessy Lewars . . . . ib. 
Eintajih on Miss Jessy Lewars . . . .271 

On her Recovery ib. 

To the Same ib. 

Lines written on the back of a Bank Note . ib. 

Lines on. Miss J. Scott, of Ayr . . . .272 
Lines written on a pane of glass in fae Inn, at 

Moffat . . . ib. 

Lines written uKcler the picture of the celebrated 

Miss Burns ib. 

Lines presented to Mrs. Kemble . • . . ib. 
Lines written on a window at the King's Arms 

Tavern, Dumfries 273 

Verses written on a window of the Inn at Carron ib. 

To Dr. Maxwell ib. 

Epigram on a Henpecked Country Scjuire . . 274 

Another ib. 

A Toast, on the Anniversai-y of Rodney's Victory ib. 
Impromptu on Mrs. R— 'a Birth-day . . . 275 
The Loval Natives' Verses ib. 



z CONTENTS. 

Paire. 

Bums' Reply to the Loyal Natives . . . 270 
Extemporaneous Effusion on being appointed to 

the Excise ib. 

On seeing- the beautifiil seat of Lord G — . . ib. 

On the same ib. 

To the same, on the Author being threatened 

with his resentment 277 

Extempore in the Court of Seesion, on Lord 

A — te, and Mr. Er — ne ib. 

On hearing that there was falsehood in the Rev. 

Dr. B — 's very looks ib. 

Extempore, on the late Mr William Smellie . 278 
Extempore, to Mr. Syme, on refusing to dine 

with him ib. 

To Mr. S — e, with a present of a dozen of porter ib. 
Lines addressed to Mr. John Rankine . . ib. 

Lines written by Burns, while on his death-bed 279 

EPITAPHS. 

Epitaph for the Author's Father . . .279 

Inscription to the Memory of Fergusson . . 280 

To Robert Aiken, Esq ib. 

A Bard's Epitaph ib. 

On a Friend 281 

For Gavin Hamilton, Esq ib. 

On W. Nichol ib. 

On a Wag in Mauchline ib. 

On a Henpecked Country Squire . . . 283 

On a Noisy Polemic ib. 

On a celebrated ruling Elder . . . . ib. 
On John Dove, Inn-keeper, Mauchline . . ib. 

On Wee Johnnie 283 

On J— y B — y. Writer in Dumfries . . . ib. 
On a person nicknamed the Marquis . , ib. 

On a Schoolmaster, in Cleish Parish, Fifeshire ib. 
For Mr. Gabriel Richardson, Brewer, Dumfries ib. 

On Walter S— ib. 

On a Lap-dog named Echo 8M 



CONTENTS. XI 

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 

LATELY COLLECTElJ. 

Page 

The Farewell 532 

Willie Chalmers 533 

Epistle to Major Logan 535 

On the death of Robert Dundas, Esq. . . 537 

Written inFriarsCarse Hermitage, on the banks 

of the Nith (from the original draft) . 539 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 540 

To John M'Murdo, Esq 542 

Written on a Pane of Glass 542 

The Kirk's Alarm (second version) . . . 542 
Epistle to Robert Graham, of Fintray . . .547 
Address of Beelzebub to the President of the 

Highland Society 551 

To John Taylor 553 

Epistle from Esopus to Maria .... 554 
On seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favourite cha- 



racter 



556 



The Heron Ballads— Ballad first . . . .557 

The Election 558 

An excellent new Song 5Cl 

To a Kiss 563 

Verses written under violent Grief, whilaf he 

contemplated sailing to Jamaica . . 563 
The Hermit, written in the wood of Aberieldy . 504 

To my Bed 565 

The Tree of Liberty 566 

On the death of his Daughter . . . • 5CD 

On the same 570 

Verses on the destruction of the Woods near 

Drumlanrig 570 

The Book-worms 572 

Lines on Stirling 572 

The Reproof 572 

The Kirk of Lamington 572 

The League and Covenant 572 

Inscrijition on a Goblet 573 



i 

! xii CONTENTS. 

1 


Page 




The Toad-eatc 


. S73 




The Selkirk Grace 


. 573 




On a Suicide 


. 573 




On tlie late Duke of Queensberry 


. 57.1 




Impromptu on Willie Stewart 


. 574 




Written on a pane of Glass on the occasion of a 




National Thanksgiving for a Naval Victory 574 




A Grace before Meat .... 


. 574 




' Epitaph on Mr. W. Cruickshank 


. 574 




J Epitaph on W 


. 575 




j Epitaph on the same .... 


. 575 




ALPHABETICAL INDEX 




TO 






MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 


&C. 




EY FIRST LINES. 






Accept the jrift a fiiend sincere 


. 563 




Admiring Nature in her wildest grace 


. 104 




Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl . 


. 278 




A.uain th^ silent wheels of time . 


. 217 




A tuid new year, I wish thee, Maggie! 


. 80 




A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight 


. 115 




All devil as I am, a damned wretch . 


. 119 




All hail ! inexorable lord ! . . . 


. 138 




Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 


. 104 




An honest man here lies at rest 


. 281 




As cauld a wind as ever blew 


. 572 




As father Adam first was fool'd . 


. 282 




Ask why God made the gem so small 


. 272 




As Mailie, an' her Iambs thegither 


. 90 




As on the banks o' wandering NitU . 


. 670 




Auld chuckle Reekie 's sair distrest . 


. 110 




Auld comrade dear and brither sinner 


. 191 




A' ye wha live by soups o' drink 


.903 





ALPHABETICAL. INDEX. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and tay 
Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes 
Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day! 

Bright ran thy line, O G 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth 



Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing 
Collected Harry stood awee . 
Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd 
Cnrs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in 1 



Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief 
Dweller in yon dungeon dark 

Earth 'd up here lies an imp o' hell 
Edina, Scotia's darling seat . 
Expect na, Sir, in this narration . 

Fair empress of the Poet's soul . 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face . 

False flatterer, Hope, away ! . . • 

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains . 

Fill me with the rosy wine . 

Fintray, my stay in worldly strife 

For lords or kings I dinna mourn 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal 

From those drear solitudes and frowzy cell 

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may liv 

Guid-mornin' to your Majesty! 

Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnie . 

Hail, Poesie! thou nymph reserv'd ! . 
Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! 
Ha, whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie? 
Has auld K********* seen the DeiH . 
Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran chief 
Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots 
Heard ye o' the tree o' France 
He clench'd his pamphlets in his list . 
H3re Brewer Gabriel's fire 's extinct 
Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 



fe 



xiii 

Pag-e 
. 219 
. 282 
. 542 
. 270 

. 2ri 

. 272 
. 277 
. 124 
, 124 

, 150 
. 249 

. 573 
. 73 
, 1S5 

. 219 
. 77 
. 121 
. 532 
, 270 
, 547 
, 265 
, 215 
, 554 

. 263 
. 268 
. 64 
. 164 

. 106 
. 535 
, 248 
, 260 
. 214 
. 107 
, 566 
. 277 



ALPHABETICAL INDEX 



Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were 

shamm'd 2S3 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose .... 570 

Here lies Johnnie Pidgeon 2S2 

Here lies J — y B — y, honest ma7i ! . . . 283 
Here lie Willie M — hie's banes .... 233 
Here souter Will in death does sleep . . . 282 
Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd . . . 572 
Here where the Scottish Muse immortal lives . 218 
He who of Ilankine sang, lies stiff and dead . 279 
Honest Will 's to Heaven gane .... 574 
How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd . 250 
How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace . . 573 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite . 113 
Humid seal of soft aflectioiis .... 5C3 

I am a keeper of the law 182 

I call no goddess to inspire my strains . . 205 

I gat your letter, winsome Willie . . . 173 

I hold it, Sir, my bounden duty .... 198 
I lang hae thought, my youthfu' fiiend . . 207 
I'ni three times doubly o'er your debtor . . 170 
I mind it weel, in early date .... 221 
1 murder hate by field or flood .... 269 
Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art . 85 

[n politics if thou would'st mix .... 269 
Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast . 274 
In this strange i^and, this uncoutli clime . . 539 
In wood and wild, ye warbliag thron}? . . 284 
Is there a whim-inspired fool .... 280 
Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief .... 272 
Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an' claw . . . 23L 
Kind Sir, I 've read your paper through . . 193 
Know thou, O stranger to the fame . . . 280 
Lament him Mauchline husbands a' . . . 281 
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose . . .92 
Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg . . 202 
Let other poets raise a fracas . . . .44 
Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize . . . 251 
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks . 537 
Long )\fe, -my Lord, an' health be your's . ^ 551 



TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. xv 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave . . . 273 

My curse upon the venom'd stanj . . . 78 
My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel . . .185 

My Lord, 1 know your noble ear • . . 93 

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend . 27 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not . 278 
No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more . 25'i 
No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay . 280 
No son;;- nor dance I bring- from yon great city 117 

No Stuart art thou, G— , 276 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green . . 148 

Now Robin lies in liis last lair . . • -267 

O a' ye pious godly flocks 237 

O, could I give thee India's wealth . • -542 
O Death ! hadst thou but spar'd his life . • 274 
O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! . • 255 
O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone moun- 
tain straying 14* 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace . 120 
O Goudie ! terror o' the Whigs . . • -179 
Oh! had each Scot of ancient times . . .272 
Oh ! sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave 569 
O, had the malt thy strength of mind . . 278 

Old Winter with his frosty beard . . .275 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear . 217 
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell . . 274 
Oppress'd with grief, oppressed with care . . 136 
O rounh, rude, ready-witted Ilankine . • 180 

Orthodox, Orthodox, wlia believe in John Knox 240 
Orthodox, Orthodox, (second version) . • 542 

O Thou! dread Power who reign'st above . • 126 
O Ihou, great Being! what thou art . . . 127 
O Thou, in whom we live and move . 
O thou pale orb, tliat silent shines 
O Thou, tlie first, the greatest Friend . . .130 
O Thou, unknown. Almighty cause . • .12^9 
O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell . . 243 
O thou! whatever title suit thee . . . .68 
O Tho'i, who kindly dost provide . . .131 

O Thou whom Poetry abhors .... 268 



574 
142 



XTi ALPHABETICAL INDEX 

(> yo wha are sae guid yoursel' .... J35 
<i ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains . , 279 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare . . . 2G7 

Kash mortal and slanderous Poet, thy name 572 

Rest gently, turf, upon bis breast . . . 575 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart . . 172 

Right, Sir ! your text I '11 prove it true . . 247 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page 254 

Say, sages, what 's the charm on earth . . 271 
Searching auld wives' barrels .... 276 

Sensibility, hov/ charming 207 

Sic a reptile was Wat 283 

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough 85 
Sir, as your mandate did request . . . 189 
Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card .... 218 
Some books are lies frae end to end . . .20 
Some hae meat, and canna eat .... 573 
Spare me thy vengeance, G — , .... 277 
Still anxious to secure your partial favour . 121 
Stop, passenger! my story's brief . . . 258 
Stop thief! dame Nature cried to Death . . 675 
Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love . . .79 
Sweet naivete of feature 556 

Talk not to me of savages 271 

Tara Samson's weel-worn clay here lies . . 263 
That there is falsehood in his looks . . . 277 
The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying . 269 
The friend whom wild from wisdom's way . 217 

The grey-beard, old Wisdom, may boast of his 

treasures 268 

The king's most humble servant, I . . . 269 
The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare . . 253 
The man in life, wherever placed . . . 120 
The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps . . 281 
There 's death in the cup — sae beware ! . . 573 
The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough . 96 
The Solemn League and Covenant . . . 573 
The sun had clos'd the winter day . . .55 
The wintry west extends his blast . . . 133 



TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. xvii 

Pa?e 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills . . . 145 
Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among . .111 
Thine be the volumes, Jessy faiv .... 218 
This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain . . 205 
This wot ye all wliom it concerns . . . 125 
Thou bed, in which I first began .... 565 
Thou of an independent mind .... 105 
Thou 's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me . • 75 
Thou whom chance may hither lead . . .131 
Thou whom chance may hither lead (another 

version) 539 

Tliou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st • . 147 
Tiirough and through the inspired leaves . . 572 
'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young fair friend . 220 

To Crochallan came 278 

'Tvvas iu that place o' Scotland's isle ... 5 
'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are 

plied 112 

Upon a siminer Sunday morn .... 223 
Upon that night, when fairies light . . .34 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf . . 271 

We cam na here to view your warks . . . 273 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower . . .80 

Wee, sleekit, cow-rin', tim'rous beastie . 82 

Wliat ails ye now, ye lousie b— ch . . . 186 
What dost thou in that mansion fair? . 276 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on . iS 

What of earls with whom you have supt . . 573 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure . . .13!) 

When by a generous public's kind acclaim . 118 

When chapman billies leave the street . . 12 

When chill November's surly blast . . . 133 

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er . . 270 

When Nature her great masterpiece design'd . 200 

While at the stook the shearers cow'r . . 210 

While briars an' woodbines budding green . 155 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things . 123 

While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake . . 100 

While virgin spring, by Eden's flood . . .75 

While winds frae aff Ben-Loraond blaw . . 166 



xviii ALPHABETICAL INDEX. 

Pa?e 
Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride . . 533 

With Pegasus upon a day 553 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here . . . 270 

Wlioe'er thou art, O reader, know . . . 283 
Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading , 564 

Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene? . 123 

Why, ye tenants of the lake 81 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! . . 183 
Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks? . . 571 
Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires ' . .48 
Ye maggots, feed on Nichol's brain . . .281 
Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 273 
Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song- . . 275 
Ye true ' Loyal Natives,' attend to my song . 276" 
You're welcome, Willie Stewart .... 574 
Your news and review, Sir, I '?e re^d through 

and throiucb. Si^ > . • Sl< 



ALPHABETICAL INDEX 

TO 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 



Page 
A. BOTTLE and a friend ... . . 350 

A red, red rose .... • • ^36 

Address to General Dumourier .... 440 

Address tn the Woodlark 364 

Adown winding Nith 416 

Afton Water 40< 

Airs .... 468, 469, 471, 473, 475, 476, 478 
Aniang the trees where humming bees . . • 451 
And maun 1 still on Menie doat . . . • 346 

Anna * • • 291 

As I was a- wandering . ... 508 

Auld lang syne ... ... 286 

Auld Rob Morris . . . 393 

Banks o' bonnie Doon ,,.... 305 

Bannocks o' barley 523 

Bannockbum— Bruce's address to his army . . 284 
The same, as altered at the suggestion of 

Mr. Thomson 285 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive .... 288 
Bessy and her spinning-wheel .... 308 

Blythe hae 1 been on yon hill 298 

Blythe was she 294 

Bonnie Ann .....••• 374 

Bonnie Bell 434 

Bonnie Jean 309 

Bonnie Leslie ....*••• 355 

Bonnie Mary 315 

Bonnie Peg .....••• 389 
Bonuie wee thing . 320 



XX ALPHABETICAL INDEX 

Page 

Braw lads of Galla water 484 

T'ty Allan stream I chanced to rove . . . 330 
By yon castle wa' 309 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes .... 314 

Caledonia 402 

Can I ceade to care 370 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? . . . 425 

Captain Grose 319 

Cassillis' banks 522 

Castle Gordon 3(JG 

Clarinda (To) on her leaving Edinburgh . .371 

Cock up your beaver 409 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie .... 490 

Come down the back stairs 483 

Come, let me take thee to my breast . . . 383 

Coming: throujrh tlie rye 516 

Contented wi' little 389 

Craigic-burn wood 38fi, 443 

Dainty Davie 2S7 

Damon and Sylvia 450 

December night 295 

Delia 382 

Deluded swa'in 290 

Duncan Gray 305 

Eppie Adair 497 

Extempore — O why the deuce, &c. . . . 461 

Fair Eliza 337 

Fair Jenny 289 

Fairest maid on Devon banks .... 430 

Farewell to Eliza 337 

Farewell to Nancy 336 

Farewell tliou stream 422 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near . . . 428 
Frae the friends and land I love . » . 498 

Galla Water 414 

Gloomy December 434 

Green g^row the rashes 373 

Gudewife, count the lawiu 151 



TO SONGS AND BALLADS. xxi 

Page 

Had I a cave 41ti 

Had I the wyte 515 

Hee balou 523 

Her daddie forbad . . ... 435 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing . . . 323 
Here 's a health lo ane I lo'e dear . . . 429 
Here 's a health to them that 's awa .• . . 454 

Here's his health iu water 524 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass . . . 524 

Hey for a lass wi' a tocher 396 

Hey, the dusty miller 486 

Highland Mary 341 

Honest poverty 318 

How can I be blythe and glad ? . . . . 500 

How cruel are the parents 426 

How lang and dreary is the night . . . 38S 
Husband and wife 302 

I do confess thou art sae fair .... 444 
I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 441 

I hae a wife o' my ain 325 

I red you beware at the hunting . . . 450 

I '11 ay ca' in by yon town 383 

I '11 kiss thee yet 447 

I 'm owre young to marry yet .... 352 
It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face . . . .501 
It was the charming month o' May . . . 422 

Jamie, come try me 495 

Jeauie's bosom 324 

Jockey's taen the parting kiss .... 371 

John Anderson, my jo 299 

John Barleycorn 34S 

Kenmure's on and awa 506 

Lady Mary Ann 510 

Lady Onlie 514 

Lament of a mother for the death of her son . 332 

Landlady, count the lawin 489 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks .... 359 
Let not woman e'er complain .... 419 
Logan braes • • . 330 



ALPHABETICAL INDEX 



Lord Greg'ory .... 

Lovely Nancy .... 

Lovely Davies .... 

Sfacpherson'a Farewell 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 

Mary Morri?on .... 

Meg- o' the Mill .... 

liferry hae I been teethin' a heckle 

Montgomerie's Veggy 

Mtioiiig- on the roaring ocean 

My ain kind dearie O . . . 

My ("liloris, mark how green the groves 

My collier laddie .... 

^'y father was a farmer 

My Harry was a tjallant gay 

My heart is sair 

My heart's in the Highlands 

My heart was ance 

My Ho-gie 

My love she 's but a lassie yet 

My lady's gown there 's gairs upon *t 

My Nannie, O .... 

My Nannie 's awa 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 

My tocher 's the jewel . 

My wife 's a winsome wee thing 

Nirhsdale's walcome home . 

Now spring has clad the groves in green 

Now westlin' winds and slaTughtering guns 

O ay my wife she dang me 

O bonny was yon rosy brier 

() for ane-and-twenty, Tam . 

O were my love yon lilac fair 

guid ale comes . 

O lay thy loof in mine, lass 

O leave novels, ye Mauchline bel 

O let me in this ae night 

The answer 
O Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet 
O May, thy morn . 



. 322 
. 301 

. 504 
. 387 
. 427 
. 300 
. 392 
. 497 
. 453 
, 431 
. 320 
. 421 
. 507 
, 446 
, 408 
. 381 
. 443 
. 479 
. 435 
. 494 
. 459 
. 375 
. 391 
. 321 



313 
411 
462 
3CQ 
367 
377 
4fiO 
4C1 
461 
362 
3C3 
536 



my lad 



TO SONGS AND BALLADS. 



O once I loved a bonnie lass 

O raging Fortune's withering blast 

O that I had ne'er been married 

O Tibbie, 1 hae seen the day 

O wat you wha 's in yon town 

O were I on Parnassus' hill 

O were my love yon lilac fair 

O wert thou in the cauld blast 

O wha is she that lo'es me 

O whar did ye get 

O whistle, and 1 '11 come to you 

O why the deuce should I repine 

O saw ye my dearie 

O steer her up ... 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

Old age 

On a bank of flowers . . 

On Cessnock banks there lives a 

On the battle of Sherift'rauir 

On the seas and far away 

One night as I did wander . 

Open the door to me, oh 

Our thissles flourish'd fresh and fair 

Out-over the Forth I look to the north 

Peg-a- Ramsay 

Peggy's charms 

Phillis the fair 



lass 



Chilly and Willy . 
Polly Stewart .... 
Poortith cauld . . . 

Prayer for Mary . . . 
Ratt'lin' roarin' Willie . • 
Robin share in hairst . . 
Sae far awa .... 
Saw ye my Phely . 
Sensibility how charming 
Slie says she lo'es me best of a* 
She 's fair and fause 
Simmer 's a pleasant time 
Sir Wisdom 's a fool 



xxili 

Pa?e 
. 440 
. 454 



. 335 
. 360 
. 385 
. 377 
. 438 
. 439 
. 482 
. 3/(5 
, 461 
, 502 
, 526 
, 384 
. 209 
355 
447 
436 
418 
451 
301 
496 
399 



530 
, 321 
415 
423 
457 



340 

491 

458 



520 
419 
501 
331 
ib. 
4l»3 
-471 



Kir ALPHABETICAL INDEX 

Sleep'st thou or vvak'st thou .... 420 

Sons of death 393 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave ine 1 . . 430 

Strathallau's lament .3.35 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn . . . 386 
Sweetest May 301 

Tara Glen 296 

The Author's Farewell to his native country . 343 

The banks of Cree 357 

The banks of Doou 304 

The banks o' bonnie Doon 305 

The banks o' Nith 3J6 

The banks of the Devon 393 

The belles of Mauchline 408 

The big--belly'ti bottle 397 

The birks of Aberfeldy 301 

The blissful day 323 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw . . 489 

Tlie blue-eyed lassie 293 

The bonnie lad that's far awa .... 372 

The braes o' Ballochiuyle 354 

The braw wooer 394 

The captain's lady 495 

The cardin' o't 519 

Tlie carle of Kellybuni braes .... 512 

The carles of Dysart 514 

The Chevalier's lament 400 

The cooper o' Cuddie 518 

Tlie country lassie 307 

The Dean of Faculty 347 

The Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman . . . 449 
The deuk's dang owre my daddy .... 463 

The Dumfries Volunteers 379 

1"he Farewell to the brethren of St. James's 

Lodge, Tarbolton 344 

'J"he farewell 525 

The fete champetre 527 

The Five Carlins 463 

The gallant weaver ., 435 

The gloomy night is gathering fast . . . 3^14 



TO SONGS AND BALLADS. 



The Heron Ballads . 

The Highland laddie 

The Highland lassie 

The Highland widow's lament 

The jolly Beggars, a cantata 

The joyful widower 

The lass of Ballochniyle 

The lass of Ecclefechaa 

Tiie lass that made the bed to me 

'I'lie lazy mist hangs from the brow of 

The lovely lass of Inverness . 

The ploughman 

The posie . ^ . 

Tlie ranting dog the daddie o't 

Tlie raving winds • 

The rigs of barley • 

riie rose-bud . ' • • 
.i'he ruin'd Maid's Lament • 
The soldier's return 

The sons of old Killie . 

Tlie tailor . . . • 

The tither morn 

The Union .... 

The Vision . . . • 

The weary pund o' tow . 

The Whistle .... 

The winding Nith 

The winter it is past 

The young Highland rover . 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary 

There was a bonnie lass 

There was a lad was born at Kyi 

There was a lass . • 

There's a youth in this city 

This is no my aiu lassie 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 
Tibbie Dunbar 

To Anna 

To Mary 



PsifC 

557, 55S, 561 
. 52 1 



. 467 
. 482 
. 353 
. 517 
. 311 
the hill . 431 
. 333 
456, 4S0 
. 433 
. 381 
. 334 
. 292 
. 364 
. 345 
. 327 
. 4S1 
. 4<J'2 
. 502 
. 380 
. 368 
. 505 
. 404 



. 456 
. 334 
. 401 
. 35S 
. 531 
, 452 
. 48? 
. 412 
. 378 
. 333 
. 28<J 
. 458 
. 291 
340. 4,13 



sxYl ALPHABETICAL INDEX 

Pag-o 

To Mary in heaven * 342 

To thee, loved Nith 335 

'Twas ua her bonnie blue een was my ruin . 420 

Up ill the morning early 374 

Wae is my heart 449 

Wandering Willie 390 

Wee Willie Gray 460 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray .... 488 
Wha is that at my bower door .... 317 

Whare hae ye been 498 

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man . 396 
Wlien first I came to Stewart Kyle . . . 453 
Wlien Guildford good our pilot stood . . .409 

When rosy May 493 

Whistle owre the lave o't 316 

Why, why tell thy lover . .... 429 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary . . . 412 
Willie brew'd a peck o' maut .... 3S0 

Willie's wife 324 

Wilt thou be my dearie 316 

Ye Jacobites by name 509 

Yon wild mossy mountains ... , 4-45 

Young Junie, pride of a' t\vs plain . . . 5!7 

Ynu.iu J''s.--ie 414 

Yruiii: Jidiey 287 

Younyr PeRO • • « * . . S«l 



TO SONGS AND BALLADS. 



XXTil 



ALPHABETICAL INDEX 



TO SONGS, BY FIUST LINES. 



Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu . 

Adown winding Kith I did wander 

Ae fond kiss, and tlien we sever . 

Aaain rejoicins: Nature sees .... 

A Highland lad my love was born 

Altho' my back, be at the wa' 

Although my bed were in yon muir . 

Altho' thou maun never be mine 

Araaiig the trees were humming bees . 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December 

An' O ! my Eppie 

Anna, thy charms ray bosom fire . 

A rosebud by 7ny early walk 

A' the lads o' Thornie-bank .... 

As I stood by yon roofless tower . 

As I was a-wandering ae midsummer e'enin* 

As I was wandering ae morning in spring 

As I was walking up the street . 

A slave to love's uiibounded sway 

Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms 

Bannocks o'bear meal 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows . 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive . 

Blythe hae I been on yon hill 

But lately seen in gladsome green 

But warily tent, when ye come to court n 

By Allan stream I chanced to rove 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik 

By yon castle wa', at the close o' the day 

Can I cease to care .... 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to Mrest 
a2 



Pas-fc 
. 34J 
. 41G 
. 336 
. 346 
. 472 
. 524 
. 453 
. 429 
. 451 
. 434 
. 497 
. 291 
. 364 
. 514 
. 368 
. 508 
. 450 
. 531 
. 461 
. 396 

. 523 
. 375 
. 2S5 
. 293 
. 299 
. 376 
. 330 
. 294 
. 339 

. 370 
. 374 



xxvili ALPHABETICAL INDEX TO 




Cauld is the e'enin' blast 


l'a?e 
. 530 


Clariiida, mistress of my soul 


. 371 


Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er 


. 490 


Come down the back, stairs . 


. 4S3 


Come, let me take thee to my breast . 


. 383 


Coming- through the rye, poor body 


. 516 


Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair 


. 389 


Could aught of song declare my pains 


. 340 


Deluded swain, the pleasure 


. 290 


Dire was the hate at old Harlaw . 


. 347 


Docs haughty Gaul invasion threat 


. 379 


Duncan Gray came here to woo . 


. 305 


Fair the face of orient day . 


, 382 


Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth 


, and 


ye skies 


. 393 


Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 


. 422 


Farewell to a' our Scottish fame . 


. 380 


Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 


. 387 


Fate gave the word, the arrow sped 


. 332 


First when Maggie was my care . 


. 316 


Flow gently sweet Afton, among the t 


jTeen 


braes 


. 407 


Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 


. 428 


Frae the friends and land I love . . . 


. 498 


From thee, Eliza, I must go. 


. 337 


Full well thou know'st I love thee dear 


. 430 


Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright 


. 5.')8 


Gane is the day, and mirk's the night 


. 351 


Gat ye me, O ! gat ye me . . . 


. 517 


Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 


. 315 


Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore 


. 416 


Had I the wyte, had I the wyte . 


. 515 


Hark the mavis' evening sang 


. 314 


Hee balou ! ray sweet wee Donald 


. 523 


Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad 


. 485 


Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie 


. 390 


Here is the glen, and here the bower . 


. 357 


Here's a bottle and an honest friend . 


. 350 


Here's a health to them that's awa 


. 454 



spr 



SONGS, BY FIRST LINES. 

Here's to thy health, my Lonnie lass 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing 

Hey the dusty miller 

How can my poor heart be glad . 

How cruel are the parents 

flow lang and dreary is the night 

How pleasant the banks of the clear 

Devon 

Husband, husband, cease your strife 

I am a bard of no regard . . 

I am a son of Mars 

I am my mammie's ae bairn 

I coft a stane o' hasloch woo' 

I do confess thou art saa fair 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were 

If thou should ask my love . 

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen 

I gaed up to Dunse 

I had sax owsen in a pleugh 

I hae a wife o' my aiu . 

Ilk care and fear, when thou ai-t near 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town 

I married with a scolding wife 

In coming by the brig of Dye 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper y 

belles 

In simmer when the hay was mawn 

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when 

I see a form, 1 see a face 

I sing of a whistie, a whistle of worth 

Is there, for honest poverty . 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard . 

It is iia, Jean, thy bonnie face 

It was a' for our rightfu' king . 

It was the charming month of May 

It was upon a Lammas night 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 
John Anderson, my jo, John 

Kiin ye aught o' Captain Grose • 



winding 



nig 



. 524 
. 323 



418 
426 

388 

393 
302 

476 
4G3 
352 
519 
444 
441 
495 
293 
458 
460 
325 
447 
383 
482 
358 



307 
4(59 
3?8 
404 
318 
425 
501 
525 
422 
292 

371 
290 

319 



XX& 



ALPHABETICAL INDEX TO 



Past. 

Landlady, count the lawin 489 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen 394 
Let me ryke up to dight that tear . . . 473 
Let not woman e'er complain .... 419 
Loud blaw the frosty breezes .... 334 

Louis, what reck I by thee 324 

]\Iark yonder pomp of costly fashion . . . 4'27 
Musing on the roaring ocean .... 431 
My bonnie lass, I work in brass .... 475 
My Cliloris, mark how green the groves . . 421 
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick bor- 
der, O 446 

My Harry was a gallant gay 408 

My heart is a breaking, dey Tittie . . . 290 
My heart is sair, I dare na tell .... 381 
My heart's in the Highlands, ray heart is not 



here 



My heart was ance as blythe and free 

My lord a-hunting he is gane 

My love she's but a lassie yet 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 

Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write 

Now bank and brae are claith'd in green 

Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes 

Now spring has clad the groves in green 

Now, westlin* winds and slaughtering gum 

O bonnie was yon rosy brier 

O cam ye here the fight to shun . 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

O how can I be blythe and glad . 

O how shall I, unskilfu', try 

O, I am come to the low countrie 

O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie 

O ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten 

O, Lady Mary Ann .... 

O lassie, art thou sleeping yet 



4-13 

479 

459 

494 

321 

338 

397 

522 

391 

. 3.59 

. 287 

. 301 

. 313 

. 411 

. 369 

. 430 

. 384 

372, 500 

. 504 

. 529 

. 506 

. 392 

. 510 

. 3it 



SONGS, BY FIRST LINES. 



XULi 



295, 



O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles 

O leeze me on my spinning wheel 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 

O luve will venture in where it daurna weel be 

seen 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet 

O Mary, at thy window be . . . 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 

O meikle do I rue, fause love 

O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty 

O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle 

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour 

O, my luve's like a red, red rose . 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day 

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass 

One night, as I did wander . 

On peace and rest my mind was bent 

O once I loved a bonnie lass 

O open the door, some pity to show 

O Pliilly, happy be that day . 

O poortith cauld and restless love 

O raging fortune's withering blast 

O rattling, roaring Willie 

O sad and heavy should I part 

O saw ye bonnie Leslie 

O saw ye my dear, my Phely 

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab 

O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay 

O steer her up and baud her gaun 

O tell na me o' wind and rain 

O that I had ne'er been married . 

Our thrissles tiourish'd fresh and fair 

Out over the Forth I look to the north 

O wat ye wha's in yon town 

O were 1 on Parnassus' hill . 

O were my love yon lilac fair 

O wert thou in the cauld blast 

O wha is she that lo'es me . 

O wha my baby clouts will buy . 

O whar did ye get that hauver meal baunock 

O wha will to Saint Stephen's house . 



Paye 
4(il 



433 
531 
300 
520 
345 
432 
497 
322 
436 
355 
447 
451 
4fi2 
440 
391 
423 
303 
454 
491 
520 
355 
419 
502 
364 
526 
363 



384 
4S'i 
637 



txxii 



ALPHABinJCAL INDEX TO 



The bairns gat out \vi' an unco' shoijt . 

The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw . 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw . 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen . 

The cooper o' Caddie cam' here awa . 

The day returns, my bosom burns 

The Deil came fiddling- through the town 

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast 

The heather was blooming, the meadows 

maun 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign 

reckon . . . . - 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the 
The lovely lass o' Inverness . 
The noble Maxwells and their powers 
The ploughman, he's a bonnie lad 
There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes 



Pa?e 
. 461 
. 350 
. 458 

. 340 



O why the deuce should I repine 

O Willie brew'd a peck, o' maut . 

O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar 

Powers celestial, whose protection 
Raving winds around her blowing 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow . . . 481 
Sae flaxen were her ringlets .... 331 

Scots wha hae wi' V/allace bled . . . 284, 285 
See the smoking bowl before us ... . 478 

Sensibility how charming 501 

She is a winsome wee thing .... 413 

She's fair and fause that causes my smart . . 331 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot . . • 286 

Simmer's a pleasant time 4<>3 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou . . . 471 
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature . 420 
Stay, ray charmer, can you leave me . . . 430 
Streams that glide in orient plains . . . 366 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood 443 
Sweetest May, let love inspire thee . . . 301 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn 



. 463 
. 489 
. 521 
. 354 
. 518 
. 323 
. 449 
. 457 
. 343 

were 
. 450 

ands 

. 40] 
hill 431 
. 333 
. 508 
. 480 
. 512 



SONGS, BY FIRST LINES. xxxiii 

Pasfe 
There's auld Rob Morris who wons in yon glen . 393 
There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity 442 
There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes . . 414 

373 
531 
bonnie 

. 457 
. 452 
. 309 
. 4S7 
was 
. 402 
. 463 
. 348 
8 re- 

. 400 
. 431 
. 492 
. 381 
. 502 
. 505 
es at 

. 456 
. 367 
. 335 
. 301 



There's nought but care on every ban' 

There was a bonnie lass 

There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, 
lass 

There was a lad was born at Kyle 

There was a lass, and she was fair 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg- . 

There was once a day, but old Time then 
youn^ 

There were five carlins in the south 

Theie were three kings into the east . 

The small birds rejoice in the green leav 

turning 

The smiling Spwng- comes in rejoicing 

The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles au' i 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea . 

The tither morn, when I forlorn 

The weary pund, the weary pund 

The winter it is past, and the summer com 

last 

They snool me sair, and baud me down 

Thickest night o'erhatig my dwelling 

Thine am I, my faithful fair . 

Though cruel fate should bid us part . 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 

Thou ling'ring- star, with less'ning ray 

To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains 



True hearted was Vie, the sad i 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza . 

'Twas even, the dewy fields were green 

'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart . 

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my ee 
Weary fa' you Duncan Gray 
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet 
Wha is that at my bower door 
What can a young 
lassie 



. 342 

. 335 

the Yarrow 414 



337 
353 



514 
419 



. 460 
.317 



lassie, what shall a young 



306 



561 
453 

499 



. 467 
. 320 
. 493 



xxxiv ALPHABETICAL INDEX. 

Page 
What will I do gin my Hoggie die . . . 485 
Wha will buy my trog-gin 
When first I came to Stewart Kyle 
When first my brave Johnnie lad 
When Guilford good our pilot stood 
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld . .311 
W)»en lyart leaves bestrow the yird 
When o'er the hill the eastern star 
When rosy May comes in wi' flowers 

When the drums do beat 495 

Wlieu wild war's deadly blast was blawn . . 327 
Where ai-e the joys I have met in the morning . 2S9 
Where braving angry winter's storms . . 296 

Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea . . . 435 
Where hae ye been sae braw, lad . . . 498 
Where live ye, my bonnie lass .... 507 
While larks with little wing .... 415 

Whom will you send to London town . . 557 

Why, why tell thy lover 429 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed .... 324 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary . . . 412 

Wilt thou be my dearie 316 

Wishfully 1 look and languish . . . .326 
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around . .341 
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon . . . 304 
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon . . . 305 

Ye gallants bright, I red you right . . . 374 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear 509 
Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie . . 481 
Yestreen I had a pint o' wine . . . .291 
Yestreen I met you on the moor .... 365 
Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the hill . . 456 
Yon wild mossy mountains so lofty and wide * 445 
Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain . . . 517 
Young Jockey was the blythest lad . . . 297 
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass . . 357 
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier . . 440 



LIFE OP BURNS'. 
BY JAMES CUllRIE, M.D. 



ABRIDGED. 



Robert Burns was born on the 29th day of January, 
1759, in a small house about two miles from the town o. 
Ayr, and within a few hundred yards of Alloway Church, 
which his poem of Tarn o' Shunter has rendered im- 
mortal.* The name, which the poet and his brother 
modernized into Burns, was originally Burues, or 
Bumess. Their father, William Barnes, was the son of 
a farmer in Kincardineshire, and had received the 
education common in Scotland to pei-sons in his con- 
dition of life ; he could read and write, and had some 
knowledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen 
into reduced circumstances, he was compelled to leave 
his home in his nineteenth year, and turned his steps 
towards the south in quest of a livelihood. He un 
dertook to act as a gardener, and shaped his course 
to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard when he could 
obtain employment, passing through a variety of diffi- 
culties. From Edinburgh William Burnes passed west- 
ward into the county of Ayr, where he engaged him- 
self as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, with whom 
he lived two years ; then changed his service for that 
of Crawford of Doonside. At length, being desirous of 
settling in life, he took, a perpetual lease of seven acres 
of land from Dr. Campbell, physician in Ayr, with the 
view of commencing nurseryman and public gardener , 
and, having built a house upon it with his own nanus 

• This house is on tlie ri2:ht-hand side of tlie road from Ayr to Mat- 
iole, wliicli forms a part of the road from Glasgow to roit-Patriek. 
it ia now a country ale-liousc. 



2* CURRIE'S LIFE 

»aarried in Decemljer, 1757, Agnes Brown. The first 
fruit of this marriage was Robert, the subject of these 
memoirs. Before William Burnes had made much pro- 
l^ress in preparing his nursery, he was withdrawn from 
that undertaking by Mr. Ferguson, who purchased the 
estate of Doonholra, in the immediate neighbourhood, 
and engaged him as his gardener and overseer ; and 
this was his situation when our poet was born. When 
in the service of Mr. Ferguson, he lived in his own 
house, his wife managing her family, and her little 
dairy, which consisted of two, sometimes of three, mllcli 
cows ; and this state of unambitious content continued 
till the year 1766. His son Robert was sent by him, in 
his sixth year, to a school at Alloway Miln, about a mile 
distant, taught by a person of the name of Campbell ; 
but this teacher being in a few months appointed master 
of the workhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in conjunc- 
tion with some other heads of families, engaged John 
Murdoch in his stead. The education of our poet, and of 
his brother Gilbert, was in common ; and whilst under 
Mr. Murdoch, they learned to read English tolerably 
well, and to write a little. He also taught them the 
f:!enients of English grammar, in which Robert made 
i-iuae proficiency — a circumstance which had consider- 
able weight in the unfolding of his genius and character ; 
as he soon became remarkable for the fluency and coi'- 
rectness of liis expression, and read the few books that 
came in his way with much pleasure and improvement. 
It appears that William Burnes approved himself 
greatly in the service of Mr. Ferguson, by his intelli- 
gence, industry, and integrity. In consequence of this, 
with a view of promoting his interest, Mr. Ferguson 
leased to him the farm of Mount Oliphant, in the parish 
of Ayr ; consisting of upwards of seventy acres (about 
ninety, English Imperial measure), the rent of which 
was to be forty pounds annually for the first six years, 
and afterward forty-five pounds. Mr. Ferguson also 
lent him a hundred pounds to assist in stocking the 
farm, to which he removed at Whitsuntide, 1766. 
But this, in place of being of advantage to William 
Burnes, as it was intended by his former master, was the 
commencement of much anxiety and distress to the 
whole family, which is forcibly described by his son, 
Gilbert, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop : — 



OF llOBKRT BURNS. 3« 

' Mount Oliphant, the farm my father possessed in the 
parisli of Ayr, is almost the very poorest soil I know oi 
in a state of cultivation. A stronyrer proof of this I can- 
not give, tlian that, notwithstanding the extraordinary 
ri.se in the value of lands in Scotland, it was, after a 
considerable sum laid out in improving it hy, the pro- 
prietor, let a few years ago five pounds per annum 
Jower than the rent paid for it by my father thirty years 
ago. My father, in consequence of this, soon came into 
uiiliculties, which were increased by the loss of several 
of his cattle by accidents and disease — To the buffetings 
of misfortune, we could only oppose hard labour and the 
most rigid economy. We lived very sparingly. For 
several years butcher's meat was a sti-anger in the 
house, while all the members of the family exerted 
themselves to the utmost of their strength, and rather 
beyond it, in the labours of the farm. My brother, at 
tlie age of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop of 
corn, and at fifteen was the principal labourer on the 
farm, for we had no hired servant, male or female. The 
anguish of mind we felt at our tender years, under these 
straits and difficulties, was very great. To think of our 
father growing old (for he was now above fifty), broken 
down with the long- continued fatigues of his life, with 
a wife and five other children, and in a declining state 
of circumstances, these reflections produced n my 
brother's mind and mine sensations of the deepest dis- 
tress. I doubt not but the hard labour and sorrow of 
this period of his life, was in a great measure the cause 
of that depression of spirits with which Robert was so 
often afflicted through his whole life afterward. At this 
time he was almost constantly afilicted in the evenings 
with a dull head-ache, which, at a future period of his 
life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the heart, and 
a threatening of fainting and sufibcation in his bed, in 
the nighttime. 

* By a stipulation in my father's lease, he had a 
right to throw it up, if he thought proper, at the end of 
every sixth year. He attempted to fix himself in a 
better farm at the end of the frrst six years, but failing 
in that attempt, he continued where he was for six 
years more. He then took the farm of Lochlea, of 130 
acres, at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the 
parish of Tarbolton, of Mr. , then a mer« 



4* CUimiES LIFE 

c)iant in Ayr, ami now {i70T) a merchant at Liverpool. 
He removed to this farm at Whitsuntide, 1777, and f os 
sesaed it only seven years. No writing- had ever been 
made out of the conditions of the lease ; a misunder- 
standing took place respecting- them ; the subjects in 
dispute virere submitted to arbitration, and the decision 
involved my father's affairs in ruin. He lived to know 
of this decision, but not to see any execution in conse- 
quence of it. He died on the 13th of February, 1784.' 

Of this frug-al, industrious, and good man, the following 
beautiful character has been given by Mr. Murdoch : — 
' He was a tender and affectionate father ; he took plea- 
sure in leading his children in the path of rirtue ; not 
in driving them, as some parents do, to the performance 
of duties to which they themselves are averse. He took 
care to find fault but very seldom ; and therefore, when 
he did rebuke, he was listened to -with a kind of re- 
verential awe. A look of disappx-obation was felt ; a 
reproof was severely so : and a stripe with the tawz, even 
on the skirt of the coat, gave heartfelt pain, produced 
a loud lamentation, and brought forth a flood of tears. 

' He had the art of gaining the esteem and good-will 
of those that were labourers under him. 1 think I never 
saw him angry but twice : the one time it was with the 
foreman of tlie band, for not reaping the field as he was 
desired ; and the other time it was with an old man, for 
using- smutty innuendoes and double ente?idrcs. Were 
every foul-mouthed old man to receive a seasonable 
check in this way, it would be to the advantage of the 
rising generation. As he was at no time overbearing to 
inferiors, he was equally incapable of that passive, pitiful, 
paltry spirit, that induces some people to keep booing 
and booing in the presence of a great man. He always 
treated superiors with a becoming respect ; but he 
never gave the smallest encouragement to aristocrati- 
cal arrogance. But I must not pretend to give you a 
description of all the manly qualities, the rational and 
Christian virtues, of the venerable William Burnes. 
Time would fail me. I shall only add, that he carefully 
practised every known duty, and avoided every thing 
that was criminal ; or, in the apostle's words, " Herein 
did he exercise himself, in living a life void of offence 
towards God and towards men." O for a world of men 
of such dispositions! We should then have no wars. I 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 5* 

have often wished, for the g-ood of mankind, that it were 
as customary to honour and perpetuate the memory of 
those who excel in moral rectitude, as it is to extol what 
are called heroic actions : then would the mausoleum of 
the friend of my youth overtop and surpass most of the 
monuments I see in Westminster Abbey !' 

Uuder the humble roof of his parents, it appears in- 
deed that our poet had great advantages ; hut his oppor- 
tunities of information at school were more limited as to 
time than they usually are among his countrymen, in 
his condition of life ; and the acquisitions which he 
made, and the poetical talent which he exerted, under 
the pressure of early and incessant toil, and of inferior, 
and perhaps scanty nutriment, testify at once the extra- 
ordinary force and activity of his mind. In his frame of 
body he rose nearly five feet ten inches, and assumed 
the proportions that indicate agility as well as strength. 
In the various labours of the farm he excelled all his 
competitors. Gilbert Burns declares that in mowing, 
the exercise that tries all the muscles most sevei'ely, 
Robert was the only man that, at the end of a summer's 
day, he was ever obliged to acknowledge as his master. 
But though our poet gave the powers of his body to the 
labours of the farm, he refused to bestow on them his 
thoughts or his cares. While the ploughshare under his 
guidance passed through the sward, or the grass fell un 
der the sweep of his scythe, he was humming the songs 
of his country, musing on the deeds of ancient valour, 
or rapt in the illusions of Fancy, as her enchantments 
rose on his view. Happily the Sunday is yet a sabbath, 
on which man and beast rest from their labours. On 
this day, therefore, Burns could indulge in a freer inter* 
course with the charms of nature. It was his delight to 
wander alone on the banks of Ayr, whose stream is now 
immortal, and to listen to the song of the blackbird at 
the close of the summer's day. But still greater was 
his pleasure, as he himself informs us, in walking on the 
sheltered side of a wood, in a cloudy winter-day, and 
hearing the storm rave among the trees ; and more ele 
vated still his delight, to ascend some eminence during 
the agitations of nature, to stride along its summit 
while the lightning flashed around him, and, amidst the 
howlings of the tempest, to apostrophize the spirit of the 
etorm. Such situations he declares most favourable to 



6* CURRIE'S LIFE 

devotion — ' Rapt in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend towardi 
Him tvho walks on the wings of the wind!' If other 
proofs were wanting- of the character of his geniuh, this 
might determine it. The heart of the poet is peculiarly 
awake to every imp.ression of beauty and sublimity; but, 
with the higher order of poets, the beautiful is less at 
tractive than the sublime. 

The g'aiety of many of Burns's writings, and the live 
ly and even cheerful colouring with which he has por- 
trayed his own character, may lead some persons to 
suppose, that the melancholy which h\ing- over him 
towards the end of his days was not an original part of 
his constitution. It is not to be doubted, indeed, that 
this melancholy acquired a darker hue in the prog-ress 
of his life ; but, independent of his own and of his bro- 
ther's testimony, evidence is to be found among his 
papers that he was subject very early to those depres- 
sions of mind, which ai-e perhaps not wholly sepa- 
rable from the sensibility of genius, but which in him 
rose to an uncommon degree. The following letter, ad- 
dressed to his father, will serve as a proof of this obser- 
vation. It was written at the time when he was learn- 
ing the business of a liax.-dresser, and is dated 

' HONOURED SIR, Irvine, Dec. 27, 1781. 

• I have ptn-posely delayed writing, in the hope that I 
should have the pleasure of seeing you on New-year's 
Day ; but work comes so hard upon us, that I do not 
choose to be absent on that account, as well as for some 
other little reasons, which I shall tell you at meeting. 
My health is neai-ly the same as when you were here, 
only my sleep is a little sounder, and, on the whole, I 
am rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very 
slow degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so debili- 
tated my mind, that I dare neither review past wants 
nor look forward into futurity ; for the least anxiety or 
perturbation in my breast produces most unhappy effects 
on my whole frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an 
hour or two my spirits are a little lightened, I glimmer 
a little into f\iturity ; but my principal, and indeed my 
only pleasurable employment, is looking backwards and 
forwards in a moral and religious way. I am quite 
transported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps very 
soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains and 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 7* 

uneaainessea and disquietudes of this weary life ; for I 
assure you I am heartily tired of it ; and if I do not 
very much deceive myself, I could contentedly and glad- 
ly resign it. 

The soul, uneasy, and confined at home, 
Rests and expaiiates in a life to come. 

' It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 
16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chapter of Revelations, 
than with any ten times as many verses in the whole 
Bible, and would not exchange the noble enthusiasm 
with which they inspire me for all that this world has 
to offer.* As for this world, I despair of ever making a 
figure in it. I am not formed for the bustle of the busy, 
nor the flutter of the gay. I shall never again be capa- 
ble of entering into such scenes. Indeed I am altogether 
unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I foresee that 
poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am m 
some measure prepared, and daily preparing, to meet 
them. I have but just time and paper to return you my 
grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and piety you 
have given me, which were too much neglected at the 
time of giving them, but which, I hope, have been re- 
membered ere it is yet too late. Present my dutiful 
respects to my mother, and my compliments to Mr. and 
Mrs. Muir; and, with wishing you a merry New-year'a 
day, I shall conclude. 

* 1 am, honoured Sir, 

'Your dutiful son, 

' Robert Burns. 

' P. S. My meal is nearly out ; but I am going to bor- 
row, till I get more.' 

This letter, written several years before the publication 
of his poems, when his name was as obscure as his con- 
dition was humble, displays the philosophic melancholy 

* The verses of Scripture here alluded to, are as follow 



'■ 1 he verses ot ^cnpcure iicic auuucu lu, aiv. u=. .^^..^..• . 
' 15. Therefore are ihey before the throne of God, and serve him 
day and ni-ht in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne shall 

"^^'"^e.'^rh" y'shaU^hun^er no more, neither thirst any more; neither 
shall the sun liu'ht on them, nor any heat. , ,, , , .i,„„ 

' 17 For the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shal feed them, 
and shall lead them unto livin- fountains of waters ; and God shaU 
wipe away all tears from their eyes.' 



8* CURRIE'S LIFE 

which so j^enerally forms the poetical temperamenj, and 
that buoyant and ambitious spirit which indicates a 
mind conscious of its strength. At Irvine, Burns at this 
time possessed a single room for his lodging;, rented per- 
haps at the rate of a shilling a week. He passed his 
days in constant labour as a flax-dresser, and his food 
consisted chiefly of oatmeal sent to him from his father's 
family. The store of this humble, though wholesome nu- 
triment, it appears, was nearly exhausted, and he was 
about to borrow till he should obtain a supply. Yet even 
in this situation his active imagination had formed to 
itself pictures of eminence and distinction. His despair 
of making a figure in the world shews how ardently he 
wished for honourable fame ; and his contempt of life, 
founded on this despair, is the genuine expression of a 
youthful and generous mind. In such a state of reflec- 
tion and of suflering, the imagination of Burns naturally 
passed the dark boundaries of our earthly horizon, and 
rested on those beautiful representations of a better 
world, where there is neither thirst, nor hunger, nor 
sorrow, and where happiness shall be in propoition to 
the capacity of happiness. 

Such a disposition is far from being at variance with 
social enjoyments. Tliose who have studied the affinities 
of mind know that a melancholy of this description, 
after a while, seeks relief in the endearments of society, 
ajid that it has no distant connexion with the flow of 
cheerfulness, or even the extravagance of mirth. It was 
a fev/ days after the writing of this letter that our poet, 
'in giving a welcoming carousal to the new year, with 
his gay companions,' suffered his flax to catch fire, and 
his shop to be consumed to ashes. 

The energy of Burns's mind was not exhausted by his 
daily labours, the eff"usions of his muse, his social plea- 
sures, or his solitary meditations. Some time previous 
to his engagement as a flax-dresser, having heard that 
a debating club had been established in Ayr, he resolved 
to try how such a meeting would succeed in the village 
of Tarbolton. About the end of the year 1780, our poet, 
his brother, and five other young peasants of the neigh- 
bourhood, formed themselves into a society of this sort, 
the declared objects of which were to relax themselves 
after toil, to promote sociality and friendship, and to im- 
prove the mind. The laws and regulations were fur- 



OF ROBERT BURNS. g 

niohed by Burns. The members were to meet after the 
labours of the day were over, once a week, in a small 
public-house in the villag-e ; where each should offer his 
opinion on a given question or subject, supportinij it by 
such arguments as he thought proper. The debate was 
to be conducted with order and decorum ; and after it 
was finished, the members were to choose a subject for 
discussion at the ensuing meeting. The sum expended 
by each was not to exceed three-pence; and, with the 
humble potation that this could procure, they were to 
toast their mistresses, and to cultivate friendship with 
each other. 

After the family of our bard removed from Tarbolton 
to the neighbourhood of iMauchline, he and his brotlier 
were requested to assist in forming a similar institution 
there. The regulations of the club at Mauchline were 
nearly the same as those of the club at Tarbolton ; but 
one laudable alteration was made. The fines for non-at- 
tendance had at Tarbolton been spent in enlarging their 
scanty potations : at Mauchline it was fixed, that the 
money so arising should be set apart for the purchase of 
books ; and the first work procured in this manner was 
the Mirror, the separate numbers of which were at that 
time recently collected and published in volumes. After 
it followed a number of other works, chiefly of the same 
nature, and among these the Lounger. The society of 
Mauchline still subsists, and was in the list of subscri- 
bers to the first edition of the works of its celebrated as- 
sociate. 

Whether, in the humble societies of which he was a 
member, Burns acquired much direct information, may 
perhaps be questioned. It cannot however lie doubted, 
that by collision the faculties of his mind would be 
excited, that by practice his habits of enunciation would 
be established, and thus we have some explanation of 
that early command of words and of expression which 
enabled him to pour forth his thoughts in language 
not unworthy of his genius, and which, of all his 
endowments, seemed, on his appearance in Edinburgh, 
the most extraordinary. For associations of a literary 
nature, our poet acquired a considerable relish ; and 
happy had it been for him, after he emerged from the 
condition of a peasant, if fortune had permitted him to 
enjoy them in the degree of whicli he was capable, so as 



10* CURRIE'S LIFE 

to have fortified his principles of virtue by the purifica- 
tion of his taste, and given to the energies of his mind 
habits of exertion that might have excluded other as- 
sociations, in which it must be acknowledged they v/ere 
too often wasted, as well as debased. 

The whole course of the Ayr is fine ; but the banks of 
that river, as it bends to the eastward above Mauchline, 
are singularly beautiful, and they were frequented, as 
mav he imagined, by our poet in his solitary walks. 
Here the muse often visited him. In one of these wan- 
derings, he met among the woods a celebrated Beauty of 
the Avest of Scotland;* a lady, of whom it is said, that 
the charms of her person corresponded with the character 
of her mind. This incident gave rise, as might be ex- 
pected, to a poem, of which an account will be found in 
tlie following letter, in which he enclosed it to the object 
of his inspiration: 

TO MISS . 

MADAM, Moss^iel, Nov. 18, 1778. 

' Poets are such outri beings, so much the children of 
wayward fancy and capricious whim, that I believe the 
world generally allows them a larger latitude in the laws 
of propriety, than the sober sons of judgment and pru- 
dence. I mention this as an apology for the liberties 
that a nameless stranger has taken with you in the en- 
closed poem, which he begs leave to present you with. 
Whether it has poetical merit any way worthy of the 
theme, I am not the proper judge ; but it is the best my 
abiHties can produce ; and, what to a good heart will 
porhaps be a superior grace, it is equally sincere as 
fervent- 

'The scenery was nearly taken from real life, though 
I dare say, Madam, you do not recollect it, as I believe 
you scarcely noticed the poetic reveur as he wandered 
by you. I had roved out as chance directed, in the fa- 
vourite haunts of my muse, on the banks of Ayr, to view 
nature in all the gaiety of the vernal year. The even- 
ing sun was flaming over the distant western hills ; not 
a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the ver- 
dant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for a 
poetic heart. I listened to the feathered warblers, pour 
• Miss Alexander, of Ballochmyle. 



GP ROBERT BURNS. U* 

ing their harmony on every hand, with a coniyenial 
kindred regard, and frequently turned out of my path, 
lest I should disturb their little songs, or frighten them 
to another station. Surely, said I to myself, he must be a 
wretch indeed, who, regardless of your harmonious en- 
deavour to please him, can eye your elusive flights to 
discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all the 
property nature gives you, your dearest comforts, your 
helpless nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that 
shot across the way, what heart at such a time but must 
have been interested in its welfare, and wished it pre- 
served from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering 
eastern blast? Such was the scene, and such the hour, 
when in a corner of my prospect I spied one of the fair- 
est pieces of Nature's workmanship that ever crowned a 
poetic landscape, or met a poet's eye, those visionary 
bards excepted who hold commerce with aerial beings ! 
Had Calumny and ViUany taken my walk, they had at 
that moment sworn eternal peace with such an object. 

'What an hour of inspiration for a poet! It would 
have raised plain, dull, historic prose into metaphor and 
measure. 

' The enclosed song was the work of my return home ; 
and perhaps it but poorly answers what might have been 
expected from such a scene. 

« * ♦ * * # * 
• I have the honour to be. Madam, 

' Your most obedient, and very humble servant, 
' Robert Burns. 
'Twas even — the dewy fields were prreen, 

On every blade tlie pearls hang^;* 
The Zepliyr wanton'd round the bean, 
And bore Us frairant sweets alang : 
In every srlen the mavis sansr. 

All nature listeninsr seem'j the while. 
Except wliere green-wood echoes ranj, 
Amang- the braes o' Ballochmyle 1 

With careless step 1" onward stray'd, 

l\Iy heart rejoiced in nature's joy. 
When miisin? in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I clianced to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like nature's vernal smile. 
Perfection wliisper'd passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle !t 

* //ane, Scotticism for hun^. 
t Variation. The lily's hue and rose's dye 

Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle* 



12* CURRIE'S LIFS 

FairMs the moi-n in flow'ry May, 

And sweet is nlii^ht in Autumn raild: 
When roving- thro' the garden gay, 

Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
But woman, nature's darling child! 

There all her charms she doescompfi«{ 
E'en there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonuy lass o' Balloctjnyle. 

O, had she been a country maid. 

And I the happy country swain. 
Tho' slielter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain. 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain. 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil, 
And nightly to roy bosom strain 

The bonny lass c' Ballcchmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry stecR 

Where fame -.ind honours lofty shine; 
And thirst of gold might lempt the deep, 

Or downward sink the Indian mine; 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the soil. 
And every day have joys divine 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Ill the manuscript book in which our poet has recount- 
ed this incident, and into which the letter and poem 
were copied, he complains that the lady made no reply 
to his effusions, and this appears to have wounded his 
self-love. It is not, however, difficult to find an excuse 
for her silence. Her modesty might prevent her from 
perceiving that the muse of TibiiUus breathed in this 
nameless poet, and that her beauty was awakening 
strains destined to immortality on the banks of the Ayr. 
It may be conceived also, that supposing the verses duly 
appreciated, delicacy might find it difficult to express its 
acknowledgments. The fervent imagination of the rus- 
tic bard possessed more of tenderness than of respect. 
Instead of raising himself to the condition of the object 
of his admiration, he presumed to reduce her to his own, 
and to strain this high-born beauty to his daring bosom. 

The sensibility of our bard's temper, and the force of 
his imagination, exposed him in a particular manner to 
the impressions of beauty ; and these qualities, united to 
his impassioned eloqtience, gave him in turn a powerful 
influence over the female heart. The banks of the Ayr 
fonned the scene of youtliful passions of a still tenderer 
nature, the history of which it would be impropW to re- 
veal; were it even in our power, and the traces of whicli 
will soon be disceverable only in those stiaiiis of nature 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 13» 

and sensibility to which they gave birth. The son^ en- 
titled IIighla7id Mary is known to relate to one of these 
attachments. ' It was written,' says our bard, * on out? 
of the most interesting' passages of my youthful days.' 
The object of this passion died early in life, and the im- 
pression left on the mind of Biu'ns seems to have been 
deep and lasting. Several years afterward, when he was 
removed to Nithsdale, he gave vent to the sensibility of 
his recollections in the following impassioned lines ad 
dressed to ' Mary in Heaven!' 

Thou lingering' star, with less'nin": ray, 

Tlial lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again tliou usher'stin the day 

"My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissiul rest ! 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ! 
Ilear'stt:ou the groans that rend his breast 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallow-'d grove, 
VVIiere by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love ! 
Etirnity will not effai-c 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ! 

All ! little thought we 'twas our last! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung'with wild woods, thickening greea 
The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar. 

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. 
The flowers spring wanton to be press'd, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Prociaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. 

And fondly broods with miser care! 
Time but the impression deeper makes. 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed sliade! 

Whtre is Uiy place of blissful rest! 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid! 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

At this time Burns's prospects in life were so extremely 
gloomy, that he had decided upon going out to Jamaica, 
and had procured the situation of overseer on an estate 
belonging to Dr. Douglas; not, however, without lament- 
ing, that want of patronage should force him to think of 
a project so repugnant to his feelings, when his ambi- 
tion aimed at no higher object than the station of an 
exciseman or gauger in his own country. But the situ- 
ation in which he was now placed cannot be better il 
iiistrated than by introducing; the letter which he wrota 



14* CURRIE'S LIFE 

to Dr. Moore, giving' an account of his life up to this pe« 
riod. As it was naver intended to see the light, elegance, 
or perfect correctness of composition, will not be ex- 
pected. These, however, will be compensated by the 
opportunity of seeing our poet, as he gives the incidents 
of his life, unfold the peculiarities of his character with 
al! the careless vigour and open sincerity of his mind. 
'SIR, Maiichliiie, 2d Aiiarirst, 1787. 

' For some months past 1 have been rambling over the 
country; but I am now confined with some lingering 
complaints, originating, as I take it, in the stomach. To 
divert my spirits a little in this miserable fog of ennui, 
I have taken a whim to give you a history of myself. 
My natne has made some little noise in this country; 
you have done me the honour to interest yourself very 
warmly in my behalf ; and I think a faithful account of 
what character of a man 1 am, and how I came by that 
character, may perhaps amuse you in an idle moment. 
I will give you an honest narrative; though I know it 
will be often at my own expense ; — for I assure you, sir, 
I have, like Solomon, whose character, except in the 
trifling affair of uisdom, I sometimes think I resemble, — 
I have, I say, like him, " turned my eyes to behold mad- 
ness and folly," and, like him, too frequently shaken 
hands with their intoxicating friendship. * * * After 
you have perused these pages, should you think them 
trilling and impertinent, I only beg leave to teil you, 
that the poor author wrote them under some twitching 
qualms of conscience, arising from a suspicion that he 
was doing what he ought not to do — a predicament he 
has more than once been in before. 

' I have not the most distant pretensions to assume 
that character, which the pye-coated guardians of es- 
cutcheons call a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh last 
winter, I got acquainted in the Herald's Office; and look- 
ing through that granary of honours, I there found al- 
most every name in the kingdom ; but for me, 

!\Iy ancient but iijnoble blood 
Has crept throuj^h scoundrels ever since tlie flood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c- quite disowned me. 

* My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a 
farmer, and was thrown by early misfortunes on the 
•world at large ; where, after many years' wanderings 
and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantityof 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 15* 

observation and experience, to Avliich I am indebted for 
most of my pretensions to wisdom.— I bave metwitb few 
who understood 7nen, their mmmers,, and their ways, 
equal to him ; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and 
headlong, ung-overnable irascibility, are disqualifying 
circumstances; consequently, I was born a very poor 
man's son. For the first six or seven years of my life, 
my father was g:ardener to a worthy gentleman of small 
estate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he continued 
in that station, I must have marched oft' to be one of the 
little underlings about a farm-house ; but it was his 
dearest wish and prayer to have it in bis power to keep 
his children under his own eye till they could discern 
between grood and evil ; so, with the assistance of his 
generous mastei*, my father ventured on a small farm on 
hi.s estate. At those years I was by no means a favourite 
with any body. I was a good deal noted for a retentive 
memory, a stubborn sturdy something: in my disposition, 
and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, be- 
cause I was then but a child. Though it cost the school- 
master some thrashings, I made an excellent English 
scliolar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of 
age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. 
In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
old woman who resided in the family, remarkable for 
her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She bad, I 
suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales 
and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, 
witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead- 
light^s wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted 
towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated 
the latent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an effect 
on my imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal 
rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious 
places: and though nobody can be more sceptical than I 
am in such matters, yet it often takes an eflbrt of philo- 
sopliy to shake off these idle terrors. The earliest com- 
position that 1 recollect taking pleasure in was The Vi- 
sion of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning 
" How are thy servants bless'd, Lord!" I particularly 
remember one half-stanza, which was music to my boy- 
ish ear — 

For though on dreadful whirls we liungr 
High on the broken wave — 



16* CURRIE'S LIFE 

I met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, 
one of my school-books. The two first books I eA'er read 
in private, and which gave me more pleasure than any 
two books I ever read since, were, The Life of Han,' 
nibal, and The History of Sir JFilliam Wallace. Han 
nibal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to 
strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting dnim 
and bagpipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a sol- 
dier; while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish pre- 
judice into my veins, which will boil along there till the 
flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

• Polemical divinity about this time was putting the 
country half mad ; and I, ambitious of shining in con- 
versation parties on Sundays, between sermons, at fune- 
rals, &c. used a few years afterwards to puzzle Calvinism 
with so much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue 
and cry of heresy against me, which has not ceased to 
this hour. 

* My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. 
My social disposition, when not checked by some modifi- 
cations of spirited pride, was, like our catechism-defini- 
tion of infinitude, ivithont boitiids or limits. I formed 
several connexions with other younkers who possessed 
superior advantages, the yoimgling actors, who were 
busy in the rehearsal of parts in which they were shortly 
to appear on the stage of life, where, alas! I was des- 
tined to drudge behind the scenes. It is not commonly 
at this green age that our young gentry have a just 
sense of the immense distance between them and their 
ragged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes into the 
world, to give the young great man that proper, decent, 
unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant, stupid 
devils, the mechanics and peasantry around him, who 
were perhaps born in the same village. My young su- 
periors never insulted the clouterly appearance of my 
plough-boy carcass, the two extremes of which were 
often exposed to all the inclemencies of all the seasons. 
They would give me stray volumes of books: among 
them, even then, I could pick up some observations; and 
one, whose heart I am sure not even the Manny Begum 
scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. Part- 
ing with these my young friends and benefactors, aa 
they occasionally went off for the East or West Indies, 
was often to me a sore affliction ; but I was soon called to 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 17* 

dacre serious evils. My father's generous master died ; 
the farm proved a ruinous bargain; and, to clench the 
misfortune, we fell into the hands of a factor, who sat for 
the picture I have drawn of one in my Tale of Twa 
Degs. My father was advanced in life when he married ; 
I was the eldest of seven children ; and he, worn out by 
early hardships, was unfit for labour. My father's spirit 
was soon irritated, but not easily broken. There was a 
freedom in his lease in two years more ; and, to v/eather 
these two years, we retrenched our expenses. We lived 
very poorly : I was a dexterous ploughman for my age ; 
aud the next eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert), who 
c-ould drive the plough very well, and help me to thrash 
the corn. A novel-writer might perhaps have viewed 
these scenes with some satisfaction ; but so did not I ; 

my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 

factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to set us 
all in tears. 

' This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a hermit, 
with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me to 
my sixteenth year: a little before which period I first 
committed the sin of rhyme. You know our country cus- 
tom of coupling a man and woman together as partners 
in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my 
partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than 
myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power 
of doing her justice in that language ; but you know the 
Scottish idiom — she was a botmie, stveet, sonsie lass. In 
short, she altogether, unwittingly to herself, initiated 
me in that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid dis- 
appointment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philo- 
sophy, I hold to be the first of human joys, our dearest 
blessing here below! How .she caught the contagion, I 
cannot tell : you medical people talk much of infection 
from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; but I never 
expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know my- 
self why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when 
returning in the evening from our labours ; why the 
tones of her voice made my heart-strings thrill like an 
iEolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such 
a furious rattan when I looked and fingered over her 
little hand to pick out the cruel nettle stings and thistles. 
Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung 
sweetly: and it was her favourite reel to which I a> 



18* CURllIE'S 1.IFE 

terapted giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. 1 wa» 
not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make 
verses like printed ones, composed by men who had 
Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a song-, which was 
said to be composed by a small country laii-d's son, on 
one of his father's maids, with wliom he was in love! 
and I saw no reason why""I might not rh>nne as well as 
he : for, excepting that he could smear sheep, and cast 
peats, his father living- in the moorlands, he had no more 
scholar-craft than myself. 

' Thus with me began love and poetry ; which at 
times have been my only, and till within the last 
twelve months, have been my highest enjoyment. My 
father struggled on till he reached the freedom in his 
lease, when he entered on a larger farm, about ten 
miles farther in tlie country. The nature of the barg-ain 
he made was such as to throw a little ready money into 
his hands at the commencement of his lease ; otherwise 
the adair would have been impracticable. For four 
yeai's we lived comfortably here ; but a difference com- 
mencing between him and his landlord as to terms, after 
three years' tossing- and whirling in the vortex of liti- 
gation, my fatlier was just saved from the horrors of a 
jail by a consumption, which after two years' promises, 
kindly stepped in, and carried him away, to " where the 
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are 
at rest." 

' It is during the time that we lived on this farm that 
my little story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning 
of this period, perhaps the most ungainly, awkward boy 
in the parish — no solitaire was less acquainted with the 
ways of the world. What I knew of ancient story was 
gathered from Salmon's aJ.d Guthrie's geographical 
grammars; and the ideas I had formed of modern man- 
ners, of literature and criticism, I got from the Specta- 
tor. These, with Pope's Works, some plays of Shak- 
spcare, Tiill and Dickson on Agriculture, The Pan- 
theon, Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, 
Stackhouse's History of the Bible, Justice's British 
Gardener's Directory, Bayle's Lectures, Allan Bam- 
say's JJ'orks, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Original 
Sin, A Select Collection of English Songs, ^\idi Hervey's 
Meditations, had formed the whole of my reading. The 



OF ROBERT BURNS. IQ* 

collection of song^s was my vade mecum. I pored over 
them driving my cart, or walking to labour, song by 
song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the true, tender, 
or sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am convinced 
I owe to this practice much of my critic craft, such as 
it is. 

' In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, 
I went to a country dancing school. — My father had an 
unaccountable antipathy against these meetings ; and 
my going was, what to this moment I repent, in oppo- 
sition to his wishes. My father, as I said before, was 
subject to strong passions ; from that instance of dis- 
obedience in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, which 
I believe was one cause of the dissipation which marked 
my succeeding years. I say dissipation, comparatively 
with the strictness, and sobriety, and regularity of Pres- 
byterian country life ; for though the Will-o'-Wisp me- 
teors of thoughtless whim were almost the sole lights of 
my path, yet early ingrained piety and virtue kept me 
for several years afterward within the line of inno- 
cence. The great misfortune of my life was to want an 
aim. I had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but 
they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round 
tlie walls of his cave. I saw my father's situation en- 
tailed on me perpetual labour. The only two openings 
by which I could enter the temple of Fortune, was the 
gate of niggardly economy, or the path of little chican- 
ing bargain-making. The first is so contracted an aper- 
ture, I never could squeeze myself into it; — the layt I 
always hated — there was contamination in the very 
entrance ! Thus abandoned of aim or view in life, with 
a sti'ong appetite for sociability, as well from native 
hilarity, as from a pride of observation and remark ; a 
constitutional melancholy or hypochondriasm, that made 
me fly solitude; add to these incentives to social life, my 
reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical 
talent, and a strength of thought, something like the 
rudiments of good sense ; and it will not seem surpris- 
ing that I was generally a welcome guest, where I 
visited, or any great wonder that, always where two or 
three met together, there was I among them. But far 
beyond all other impulses of my heart, was nn pe?ichant 
6 I'adorable moitii du genre humahi. My heart was 
completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by som« 



20* CURRIE'S LIFE 

roddess or other; and as in every other warfare in this 
world my fortune was various, sometimes I was received 
with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a re- 
pulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no 
competitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance ; 
and as I never cared farther for my labours than while 
I was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the 
way after my own heart. A country lad seldom carries 
on a love-adventure without an assisting confidant. I 
possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that 
recommended me as a proper second on these occasions; 
and I dare say, 1 felt as much pleasure in being in the 
secret of half the loves of the parish of Tai'bolton,ais ever 
did statesman in knowing: the intrigues of half the courts 
of Europe. — The very goose feather in my hand seems to 
know instinctively the well-worn path of my imagina- 
tion, the favourite theme of my song; andls with dilfi- 
culty restrained from g-iving you a couple of paragraphs 
on the love-adventures of my compeers, the humble in- 
mates of the farni-Viouse and cottage ; but the grave sons 
of science, ambition, or avarice, baptize these things 
by tlie name of Follies. To the sons and daughters ot 
laljour and poverty, they are mattere of the most serious 
nature : to them the ardent hope, the stolen interview, 
the tender fareVell, are the greatest and most delicious 
parts of their enjoyments. 

' Another circumstance in my life which made some 
alteration in my mind and mannei-s, was that I spent 
my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good 
distance from home, at a noted school, to learn mensura- 
tion, surveying, dialling, &c., in which I made a pretty 
e;ood progress. But I made a gTeater progress in the 
knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at 
that time very successful, and it sometimes happened to 
me to fall in with those who cariied it on. Scenes ol 
swaggering riot and riiaring dissipation were till this 
time new to me ; but I was no enemy to social life. 
Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix with- 
out fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went oii with a 
high hand with my geometry, till the sun entered Virgo, 
a month which is always a carnival in my bosom, when 
a charming ^llette, who live<i next door to the school, 
orerset my trigonometry, and sent me off at a tangent 
fi'om the sphere of my stud-ies. I, however, struggled 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 21» 

on with my sines and co-si/tes for a few days more ; but 
stepping into the garden one charming noon to take the 
sun's altitude, there I met my angel, 

Like Proserpine, g'athering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower. 

' It was in vain to think of doing any more good at 
school. The remaining week I staid, I did nothing but 
craze the faculties of my soul about her, or steal out to 
meet her; and the two last nights of my stay in the 
country, had sleep been a- mortal sin, the image of Oils 
modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless. 

' I returned home very considerably improved. My 
reading was enlarged with the very important addition 
of Thomson's and Shenstone's Works ; I had seen hu- 
man nature in a new phasis; and I engaged several of 
my schoolfellows to keep up a literary correspondence 
with me. This improved me in composition. I had met 
with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's 
reign, and 1 pored over them most devoutly; I kept 
copies of any of my own letters that pleased me ; and a 
comparison between them and the composition of most 
of my correspondents flattered my vanity. I carried this 
whim so far, that though I had not three farthings' 
worth of business in the v/orld, yet almost every post 
brought me as many letters as if I had been a broad 
plodding son of a day-book and ledger. 

' My life flowed on much in the same course till my 
twenty-third year. Five I' amour, et vive la bagatelle, 
were my sole principles of action. The addition of two 
more authors to my library gave me great pleasure ; 
Sterne and WKemie— Tristram Shandij and The Man 
of Feeling— were my bosom favourites. Poesy was still 
a darling walk for my mind ; but it was only indulged 
in according to the humour of the hour. I had usually 
half a dozen or more pieces in hand; I took up one or 
other, as it suited the momentary tone of the mind, and 
dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. My pas- 
sions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils 
till they got vent in rhyme ; and then the conning over 
my verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet! None of 
the rhymes of those days are in print, except WinteVt 
a Dirge, the eldest of my pi-inted pieces ; The Death of 
Pom- Mailie, John Barleycorn, and songs, first, second, 



22» CURRIE'S li.FE 

and third. Song second was the ebullition of that pa» 

sion which ended the forementioned school business. 

' My twenty-third year was to me an important aera. 
Partly throv.?;h whim, and partly that I wished to set 
about doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser in a 
neighbouring town (Irvine) to learn his trade. This 
was an unlucky affair. My *****♦*; and, to finish 
the whole, as we were giving a welcoming carousal to 
the new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes; 
and I was left, like a true poet, not worth a sixpence. 

* I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the clouds of 
misfortune were gathering thick round my father's 
head; and what was worst of all, he was visibly far 
gone in a consumption; and, to ci-own my distresses, a 
belle fille whom I adored, and who had pledged hei 
soul to meet me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with 
peculiar circumstances of mortification. The finishing 
evil that brought up the rear of this infernal file was, 
my constitutional melancholy being increased to such a 
degree, that for three months 1 was in a state of mind 
scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who 
have got their mittimus — Depart from vie, ye accursed! 
' From this adventure I learned something of a town 
life; but the principal thing which gave my mind a 
iurn was a friendship I formed with a young fellow, a 
very noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune. 
He was a son of a simple mechanic; but a great man in 
the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage, 
gave him a genteel education, with a view of bettering 
his situation in life. The patron dying just as he was 
'•eady to launch out into the world, the poor fellow in 
despair went to sea; where, after a variety of good and 
ill fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him, he 
had been set ashore by an American privateer, on the 
wild coast of Connaught, stripped of every thing. I 
cannot quit this poor fellow's story without adding, that 
he is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman be- 
longing to the Thames. 

' His mind was fraught with independence, magnani- 
mity, and every manly virtue. I loved and admired 
him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of course strove to 
imitate him. In some measure I succeeded ; I had 
pride before, but he taught it to flow in proper channels. 
His knowledge of the world was vastly superior to miuci 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 23* 

and I was all attention to learn. He was the only man 
I ever saw who was a greater fool than myself, where 
woman was the presiding star ; but he spoke of illicit 
love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had 
regarded with horror. Here his friendship did me a 
mischief; and the consequence was, that soon after I 
resumed the plough, 1 wrote the Poet's Welcome* My 
reading only increased, while in this town, by two stray 
volumes of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fa- 
thom, which gave me some idea of novels. Rhyme, 
except some religious pieces that are in print, I had 
given up; but meeting with /'£7•g^^^«o«'.s Scottish Poems, 
I strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating 
vigour. When my father died, his all went among the 
hell-hounds that growl in the kennel of justice; but we 
made a shift to collect a little money in the family 
amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my brother 
and I took a neighbouring farm. Wy brother wanted 
my hair-brained imagination, as well as my social and 
amorous madness ; but, in good sense, and every sober 
qualification, he was far my superior. 

' 1 entered on this fai-m with a full resolution, " Come, 
go to, I will be wise!" 1 read farming books; I calcu- 
lated c-ops ; I attended markets ; and, in short, in spite 
of "the devil, and the world, and the flesh," 1 believe I 
should have been a wise man ; but the first year, from 
unfortunately buying bad seed, — the second, from a late 
harvest, — we lost half our crops. This overset all my 
wisdom, and I returned, " like the dog to his vomit, and 
the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the 
mire." 

' I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a 
maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic otfspring that 
saw the liglit was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel 
between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dra- 
matis persona: in my Holy Fair. I had a notion my- 
self, that the piece had some merit; but to prevent the 
worst, I g'ave a copy of it to a friend who was very fond 
of such things, and told him that I could not guess who 
■was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever.. 
With a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, 
it met with a roar of applause. Holy Willie's Prayef 

* Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to liis Bastard Child. 



24* CURRIE'S LIFE 

next made its appearance, and alarmed the kirk-session 
so much, that they held several meetings to look over 
their spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might bo 
pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily' for me, 
my wanderings led me on another side, within point 
blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfor 
tunate story that gave rise to my printed poem, The 
Lament. This was a most melancholy affair, which I 
cannot yet bear to rellect on, and had very nearly given 
me one or two of the principal qualifications for a place 
among- those who have lost the chart, and mistaken the 
reckoning, of Rationality. I gave up my part of the 
farm to my brother ; in truth it was only nominally 
mine; and made what little preparation was in my 
power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my native 
country for ever, I resolved to publish my poems I 
weighed my productions as impartially as was in my 
power : 1 thought they had merit ; and it was a deli- 
cious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even 
though it should never reach my ears — a poor negro- 
driver, — or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, 
and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
pauvre inconnti as I then was, I had pretty nearly as 
higli an idea of myself and of my works as I have at 
this moment, when the public has decided in their 
favour. It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and 
blunders, both in a rational and religious point of view, of 
which we .see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their 
ignorance of themselves. — To know myself, had been all 
along my constant study. I Aveighed myself alone ; I 
balanced myself with others; I watched every means of 
infonnation, to see how much ground I occupied as a 
man and as a poet; I studied assiduously Nature's de- 
sign in my formation — where the lights and shades in 
my character were intended. I was pretty confident 
my poems would meet with some applause: but, at the 
worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice 
of censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes make 
me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of 
•Ahich I had got subscriptions for about three hundred 
and fifty. — My vanity was highly gratified by the recep- 
tion I met with from the public; and besides 1 pocketed 
all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This 
sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of indeafr 



OF BURNS. 26* 

ing myself, for want of money to procure my passage. 
As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of 
wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage 
in the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde ; for 

Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 

* I had been for some days sculking from covert to 
covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as some ill-advised 
people had imcoupled the merciless pack of the law at 
my heels. I had taken the last farev/ell of my friends ; 
my chest was on the road to Greenock; I had composed 
the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, " 'I'he 
gloomy niglit was gathering fast," when a letter from 
Dr. Klacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my 
schemes, by opening new prospects to my poetic ambi- 
tion. The Doctor belonged to a set of critics, for whose 
applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion that I 
would meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a 
second edition fired me so much, that away 1 posted for 
that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single 
letter of introduction. The baneful star, that had so 
long shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once 
made a revolution to the Nadir; and a kind Providence 
placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of 
men, the Earl of Glencairn. Oublic moi, Grand Dieu, 
sijfiinaisje Voiiblie! 

' I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I was in a 
new world; I mingled among many classes of men, but 
all of them new to me, and I was all attention to catch 
the characters and " the maniiers living as they rise." 
Whether I have profited, time will shew.' 

The letter alluded to from Dr. Blaclclock was ad- 
dressed to tlie Rev. Mr. Laurie, Minister of Loudoun, a 
kind and steady friend, who felt so much interested in 
the poet, that he immediately forwarded it to him. The 
letter was received with so much surprise and delight, 
that, although the ship was unmooring and ready to 
sail, he at once decided to post to Edinburgh. This let- 
ter, so creditable to Dr. Blacklock, deserves to be pre- 
served in any life of our poet : 

• I ought to have acknowledged your favour long 
ago, not only as a testimony of your kind remem 
hrauce, hut as it gave me an opportunity of sharing 



26* CURRIE'S LIFE 

one of the finest, and, perhaps, one of the most g» 
nuine entertainments, of which the human mind is 
susceptible. A number of avocations retarded nay pro- 
gTess in reading- the poems; at last, however, I have 
finished that pleasini^- perusal. Many instances have 
1 seen of Nature's force and beneficence exerted 
under numerous and formidable disadvantages; but 
none equal to that with which you have been knid 
enough to present me. T.here is a pathos and delicacy 
in his serious poems, a vein of wit and humour in those 
of a more festive turn, which cannot be too much ad- 
mired, nor too warmly approved; and I think I shall 
never open the book without feeling- my astonishment 
renewed and increased. It was my wish to have ex- 
pressed my approbation in verse ; but whether from 
declining life, or a temporary depression of spirits, it 
at present out of my power to accomplish that agree- 
able intention. 

' Mr. Stewart, Professor of Morals in this University, 
formerly read me three of the poems, and I had desired 
him to get my name inserted among the subscribers ; 
but whether this was done, or not, I never could learn. 
I have little intercourse v/ith Dr. Blair, but will take 
care to have the poems communicated to him by the 
intervention of some mutual friend. It has been told me 
by a g-entleman, to whom I shewed the performances, 
and who sought a copy with diligence and ardour, that 
tlie whole impression is already exhausted. It were, 
therefore, much to be wished, for the sake of the yoitng 
man, that a second edition, more numerous than the 
former, could immediately be printed : as it appears cer- 
tain that its intrinsic merit, and the exertion of the au- 
thor's friends, might give it a more universal circula- 
tion than any thing of the kind which has been pub- 
lislied within my memory.' 

Burns set out for Edinburgh in the month of Novem- 
ber, 178C, and arrived on the second day afterward, 
having performed his journey on foot. He was fur- 
nished with a letter of introduction to Dr. Blacklock, 
from Mr. Laurie, to whom the Doctor had addressed th 
letter which has been represented as the immediate 
cause of his visiting the Scottish metropolis. H'e.was 
acquainted with Mr. Stewart, Professor of Moi-al Philo- 
sophy in the University, and had been entertained by 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 27* 

ih££ gentleman at Catrine, his estate in Ayrshire. Ho 
hail boon introduced by Mr. Alexander Dalzel to the Earl 
of Glencairn, who had expressed his high approbation of 
Lis poetical talents. He had friends, therefore, who 
could introduce him into the circles of literature as 
well as of fashion, and his own manners and appear- 
ance exceeding- every expectation that could have been 
formed of them, he soon became an object of general 
curiosity and admiration. 

The scene that opened on our bard in Edinburgh was 
altogether new, and in a variety of other respects Inghly 
interesting, especially to one of his disposition of mind. 
To use an expression of his own, he found himself 
• suddenly translated from the veriest shades of life' into 
the presence, and indeed into the society, of a number 
of persons, previously known to him by report as of the 
highest distinction in his country, and whose characters 
it was natural for him to examine with no common 
curiosity. 

From the men of letters, in general, his reception was 
particularly flattering. The late Dr. Robertson, Dr. 
Blair, Dr. Gregory, Mr. Stewart, Mr. Mackenzie, and 
Mr. Eraser Tytler, may be mentioned in the list of 
those who perceived his uncommon talents, who acknow 
ledged more especially his powers in conversation, and 
who interested themselves in the cultivation of his 
genius. In Edinburgh litei'ary and fashionable society 
are a good deal mixed. Our bard was an acceptable 
guest in the gayest and most elevated circles, and fre- 
quently received from female beauty and elegance those 
attentions above all others most grateful to him. At the 
table of Lord Monboddo he was a frequent guest; and 
while he enjoyed the society, and paitook of the hos- 
pitalities, of the venerable judge, he experienced the 
kindness and condescension of his lovely and accom- 
plished daughter. The singular beauty of this young 
lady was illuminated by that happy expression of coun- 
tenance which results from the union of cultivated taste 
and superior understanding, with the finest affections of 
the mind. The influence of such attractions was not 
unfelt by our poet. ' There has not been any thing 
like Miss Burnet,' said he in a letter to a friend,' in all 
the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness, the 
Creator has formed, since Milton's Eve on the first day 



28* CURRIE'S LIFE 

of her exisence.' In his Address to Edinburgh, she id 
celebrated in a strain of still greater elevation : 

Fair Burnet strikes th' adorin? eye, 
Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine; 

I see llie sire uf love on liigh, 
Ai.down his "work indeed divine! 

This lovely woman died a few years afterward in the 
flower of youth. Our bard expressed his sensibility on 
that occasion, in verses addressed to her memory. 

Among the men of rank and fashion, Burns was par- 
ticularly distinguished by James, Earl of Glencairn. On 
the motion of this nobleman, the Caledonian Hunt (an 
association of the principal of the nobility and gentry of 
Scotland) extended their patronage to our bard, and 
admitted him to their gay orgies. He reprid their 
notice by a dedication of the enlarged and improved 
edition of his poems, in which he has celebrated their 
patriotism and independence in very animated terms. 

A taste for letters is not always conjoined with habits 
of temperance and regularity ; and Edinburgh, at the 
period of which we speak, contained perhaps an un- 
common proportion of men of considerable talents, de- 
voted to social excesses, in which their talents were 
wasted and debased. 

Burns entered into several parties of this description, 
with the usual vehemence of his character. His gene- 
roxis affections, his ardent eloquence, his brilliant and 
daring imagination, fitted him to be the idol of such 
associations; and accustoming himself to conversation of 
unlimited range, and to festive indulgences that scorned 
restraint, he gradually lost some portion of his relish for 
the more pure, but less poignant pleasures, to be found 
in the circles of taste, elegance, and literature. The 
sudden alteration in his habits of life operated on him 
physically as well as morally. The humble fare of an 
Ayrshire peasant he had exchanged for the luxuries of 
the Scottish metropolis, and the effects of this change on 
his ardent constitution could not be inconsiderable. But 
whatever influence might be produced on his conduct, 
his excellent understanding suffered no corresponding 
debasement. He estimated his friends and associates of 
every description at their proper value, and appreciated 
Lis own conduct with a precision that might give scope 
to much curious and melancholy reflection. He saw his 



OF HUBERT BURNS. 29 

dang-«r, and at times lormed resolutions to gnard against 
it ; but he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, and 
Was borne along- its stream. 

By the new edition of his poems, Burns acquired a 
sum of money that enabled liim not only to partake of 
the pleasures of Edinburgh, but to gratify a desire he 
had long entertained, of visiting those parts of his na- 
tive country most attractive by their beauty or their 
grandeur ; a desire which the return of summer na- 
turally revived. The scenery of the banks of the Tweed, 
and of its tributary streams, strongly interested his 
fancy ; and, accordingly, he left Edinburgh on the 6th 
of May, 1787, on a toar through a country so much cele- 
brated in the rural songs of Scotland. He travelled on 
horseback, and was accompanied, during some part of 
his journey, by Mr. Ainslie, writer to the signet, a 
gentleman who enjoyed much of his friendship and of 
his confidence. 

Having spent three weeks in exploring the interest 
ing scenery of the Tweed, the Jed, the Tiviot, and other 
border districts, Burns crossed over into Northumber- 
land. Mr. Kerr and Mr. Hood, two gentlemen with 
whom he had become acquainted in the course of his 
tour, accompanied him. He visited Alnwick Castle, the 
princely seat of the Duke of Northumberland ; the her- 
mitage and old castle of Warksworth ; Morpeth, and 
Newcastle. — In this town he spent two days, and then 
proceeded to the south-west by Hexham and Wardrue, 
to Carlisle. — After spending a day at Carlisle with his 
friend Mr. Mitchell, he returned into Scotland by way of 
Annan. 

Of the various persons with whom he became ac- 
quainted in the course of this journey, he has, in gene- 
ral, given some account, and almost always a favour- 
able one. From Annan, Burns proceeded to Dumfries, 
and thence through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel, near Mauch- 
line, in Ayrshire, where he arrived about the 8th of 
June, 1787, after a long absence of six busy and event- 
"^ful months. It v/ill easily be conceived with what plea- 
sure and pride he was received by his mother, his bro- 
thers, and sisters. He had left them poor, and com- 
paratively friendless ; he returned to them high in 
public estimation, and easy in his circumstances. He 
returned to them unchanged in his ardent aflfections. 



30* CURRIE S LIFE 

aad ready to share with them, to the uttermost fart^injfi 
the pittance that fortune had bestowed. 

Having- remained with them a few days, he proceeded 
again to Edinburgh, and immediately set oat on a jour- 
ney to the Highlands. 

From this journey Burns returned to his friends in 
Ayrshire, with whom he spent the month of July, re- 
newing- his friendships, and extending his acquaintance 
throughout the county, where he was now very generally 
known and admired. In August he again visited 
F.diiiburgh, whence he undertook another journey, to- 
wards the middle of this month, in company with Mr. 
M. Adair, now Dr. Adair, of Harrowgate, of which this 
^-entleman has favoured us with the following- account: 

' Burns and I left Edinburgh together in August, 178r. 
We rode by Linlithgow and Carron, to Stn-ling. We 
visited the iron-works at Carron, with which tlie poet 
was forcibly struck. The resemblance between that 
place, and its inhabitants, to the cave of the Cyclops, 
which must have occurred to every classical visitor, pre- 
sented itself to Bui-ns. At Stirling-, the prospects fiom 
the castle strong-ly interested him; in a former visit to 
which, his national feeling-s had been powerfully ex- 
cited by the ruinous and roofless state of the liall in 
which the Scottish Parliaments had frequently been 
held. His indignation had vented itself in some impru 
dent, but not unpoetical lines, which had given much 
offence, and which he took this opportunity of erasing-, 
by breaking- the pane of the window at the inn on whicli 
they were written. 

' At Stirling, we met with a company of travellers 
from Edinbui-gh, among whom was a character, in man> 
respects congenial with that of Burns. This was Nicol 
one of the teachers of the High Grammar School at 
Edinburgh — the same wit and power of conversation, 
the same fenidr^ess for convivial society, and thoughtless- 
ness of to-morrow, characterized both. Jacobitical prin 
ciples in politics were common to both of them ; and 
these have been suspected, s-ince the revolution of France, 
to have given place in each to opinions apparently opj)©- 
site. I regret that 1 have preserved no memorabilia of 
their conversation, either on this, or on other occasions, 
when I happened to meet them together. Many song* 
were sung, which I mention for the sake of observing^., 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 31* 

that when Burns was called on in his turn, he v/as ac- 
customed, instead of singing, to recite one or other of 
his own shorter poems, with a tone and emphasis, which, 
though not coiTect or harmonious, were impressive and 
pathetic. This he did on the present occasion. 

' From Stirling- we went next morning through the 
romantic and fertile vale of Devon to Harviestone, in 
Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by Mrs. Hamilton, 
M'ith the yovmger part of whose family Burns had been 
previously acquainted. He introduced me to the family, 
and there was formed my first acquaintance with IMr. 
Hamilton's eldest daughter, to whom 1 have been mar- 
ried for nine years. Thus was I indebted to Burns for a 
connexion from which I have derived, and expect far- 
ther to derive, much happiness. 

' During- a residence of about ten days at Harviestone, 
we made excursions to visit various parts of the sur- 
rounding scenery, inferior to none in Scotland, in 
beauty, sublimity, and romantic interest; particularly 
Castle Campbell, the ancient seat of the family of Ar- 
gyll ; and the famous cataract of the Devon, called the 
Cauldron Lynn; and the Rumbling Bridge, a single 
broad arch, thrown by the devil, if tradition is to be 
believed, across the river, at about the height of a hun- 
dred feet above its bed. I am surprised that none of 
these scenes should have called forth an exertion of 
Burns's muse. But I doubt i^ he had much taste for the 
picturesque. I well remember, that the ladies at Har- 
viestone, who accompanied us on this jaunt, expressed 
tlieir disappointment at his not expressing iu more glow- 
ing and fei-vid language his impressions of the Cauldron 
Linn scene, certainly highly sublime, and somewhat 
horrible. 

' A visit to Mrs. Bruce, of Clackmannan, a lady above 
ninety, the lineal descendant of that race which gave the 
Scottish throne its brightest ornament, interested his 
feelings more powerfully. This venerable dame, with 
characteristical dignity, informed me, on my observing 
that 1 believed she was descended from the family of 
Robert Bruce, that Robert Bruce was sprung from her 
family. Though almost deprived of speech by a paraly 
tic affection, she preserved her hospitality and urbanity 
She was in possession of the hero's helmet and two 
handed sword, with which she conferred on Burns and 



32* CURRIE'S LIFE 

myself the houour of knighthood, remarking, that she 
had a better right of conferring that title than somt 
people. • * * You will of course conclude that the 
old lady's political tenets were as Jacobitical as the 
poet's, a conformity which contributed not a little to the 
conliality of our reception and enterfcainment. She gave 
as her first toast after dinner, ' Awa Uncos,' or, Awa> 
with the Strangers — Who these strangers were, you wiF 
readily understand. Mrs. A, corrects me by saying il 
should be * Hooi, or Hoohi, Uncos,' a sound used by 
shepherds to direct their dogs to drive away the sheep. 

' We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the shore 
of Lochleven) and Queensferry. I am inclined to think 
Burns knew nothing of poor Michael Bruce, who was 
then alive at Kinross, or had died there a short while 
before. A meeting between the bards, or a visit to the 
deserted cottage and early grave of poor Bruce, would 
have been highly interesting.* 

' At Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey, and the 
abbey-church, now consecrated to Presbyterian worship. 
Here I mounted the cutty stool, or stool of repentance, 
assuming the character of a penitent for fornication ; 
while Burns from the pulpit addressed to me a ludicrous 
reproof and exhortation, parodied from that which had 
been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had, as 
he assured me, once been one of seven who mounted 
the .seat of shame together. 

' In the church-yard two broad flag-stones marked the 
grave of Robert Bruce, for whose memory Burns had 
more than common veneration. He knelt and kissed the 
stone with sacred fervour, and heartily (suus 'tit mos 
erat) execrated the worse than gothic neglect of the 
first of Scottish heroes.'* 

The different journeys already mentioned did not satisfy 
the curiosity of Burns. About the beginning of Septem- 
ber he again set out from Edinburgh, on a more extended 
tour to the Highlands, in company with Mr. Nicol, with 
whom he had contracted a particular intimacy, which 
lasted during the remainder of his life. Mr. Nicol was of 
Dumfriesshire, of a descent equally humble with our poet. 
Like him he rose by the strength of his talents, and fell 
by the strength of his passions. He died in the summer 

* Bruce died some years before. 
t Extracted from a letter of Dr. Adair to the Editor. 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 33' 

of 1797. Having received the elements of a classical in 
struction at his parish school, Mr. Nicol made a very 
rapid and singular proficiency ; and by early undertaking 
the office of an instructor himself, he acquired the means 
of entering himself at the University of Edinburgh. 
There he was first a student of theology, then a student 
of medicine, and was afterward employed in the assist- 
ance and instruction of graduates in medicine, in those 
parts of their exercises in which the Latin language is 
employed. In this situation he was the contemporary 
and rival of the celebrated Dr. Brown, whom he re- 
sembled in the particulars of his history, as well as in 
the leading features of his character. The offii-e of as- 
sistant-teacher in the High-school being vacant, it was as 
usual filled up by competition ; and in the face of some 
prejudices, and perhaps of some v/ell-founded objections, 
Mr. Nicol, by superio'.- 'earning, carried it from all the 
other candidates. This office he filled at the period of 
which we speak. 

Mr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a post-chaise, 
which they engaged for the journey, and passing through 
the heart of the Highlands, stretched northwards about 
ten miles beyond Inverness. There they bent tlieir 
course eastward, across the island, and returned by the 
shore of the German Sea to Edinburgh. In the course 
of this tour, they visited a number of remarkable scenes, 
and the imagination of Burns was constantly excited by 
the wild and sublime scenery through which he passed. 
Of the history of one of these poems. The humble fcti- 
tion of Bruar water, and of the bard's visit to Athole 
House, the following particulars are given by Mr. Wal- 
ker of Perth, then residing in the family of the Duke of 
Athol. 

' On reaching Blair, he sent me notice of his arrival 
(as I had been previously acquainted with him), and I 
hastened to meet him at the inn. The Duke, to whom 
he had brought a letter of introduction, was from home ; 
but the Duchess being informed of his arrival, gave him 
an invitation to sup and sleep at Athole House. 

* My curiosity was great to see how he would conduct 
himself in company so different from what he had been 
accustomed to.* His manner was unembarrassed, plain 

♦ In the preceding^ winter, Burns had been in company of the 

c2 



34* CUIIUIK'S LIFE 

and firm. He appeared to htt^e complete reliance on hie 
own native good sense for directing- his behaviour. He 
seemed at once to perceive aijd appreciate what was due 
to the company and to himf.elf, and never to forget a 
proper respect for the separate species of dignity belong- 
ing to each. He did not arrogate conversation, but 
when led into it, he spoke with ease, propriety, and 
manliness. He tried to exert his abilities, because he 
knew it was ability alone gave him a title to be there. 
The Duke's fine young family attracted much of his ad- 
miration ; he drank their healths as honest men and 
bofinie lassies, an idea wliich was much applauded by 
the company, and with which he has very felicitously 
closed his poem. 

' Much attention was paid to Burns both before and 
after the Duke's retui-n, of which he v.'as perfectly sen- 
sible, without being- vain ; and at his departure I recom- 
mended to him, as the most appropriate return he could 
make, to write some descriptive verses on any of the 
scenes with whicii he had been so much delighted. 
After leaving Blair, he, by the Duke's advice, visited 
the Falls of B near, and in a few days I received a 
letter from Inverness, with the verses enclosed.' 

It appears that the impression made by our poet on 
the noble family of Atbole was in a high degree favour- 
able ; it is certain he was charmed with the reception he 
received from them, and he often mentioned the two 
days he spent at Athole House as among the happiest of 
his life. He was warrnly invited to prolong his stay, but 
sacrificed his inclinations to his engagement with Mr. 
Nicol ; which is the more to be regretted, as he would 
otherwise have been introduced to Mr. Dundas (then 
daily expected on a visit to the Duke), a circumstance 
that might have had a favourable influence on Burns's 
future fortunes. At Athole House he met, for the first 
time, Mr. Graham of Fin try, to whom he v/as afterward 
indebted for his office in the Excise. 

The letters and poems which he addressed to Mr. Gra- 
ham bear testimony of his sensibility,* and justify the 
supposition that he would not have been deficient in gra- 

highest rank In Kdinbiirgh; but this description of his manners is 
perfectlv appli^'ablt- to liis first appearance in such society. 

» See' the First and Second Ejiistles to Mr. GraliaiD, soliciting ZX, 
employment in the Excige. 



OF ROBERT BURNS. SSr* 

titude, had he been elevated to a situation better suited 

to his dispobition and to his talents. 

A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, our poet and 
his fellow-traveller an'ived at Fochabers. In the course 
of the preceding- winter Burns had been introduced to 
the Diicbess of Gordon at Edinburgh, and presuming on 
this acquaintance, he proceeded to Gordon Castle, leaving 
Mr. iSicol at the inn in the village. At the castle our 
poet was received with the utmost hospitality and kind- 
ness, and the family being about to sit down to dinner, 
he was invited to take his place at the table as a matter 
of course. This invitation he accepted, and after drink- 
ing a few glasses of wine, he rose "up, and proposed to 
withdraw. On being pressed to stay, he mentioned, for 
the first time, his engagement with his fellow-traveller; 
and his noble host offering to send a servant to conduct 
Mr. Nicol to the castle. Burns insisted on undertaking 
that office himself. He was, however, accompanied by 
a gentleman, a particular acquaintance of the Duke, by 
whom the invitation was delivered in all the forms of 
politeness. The invitation, however, came too late; the 
pride of Nicol was inflamed to the highest degree by the 
neglect which he had already suffered. He had ordered 
the horses to be put to the can-iage, being determined to 
proceed on his iourney alone ; and they found him pa- 
rading the streets of Fochabers, before the door of the 
inn, venting his anger on the postilion, for the slowness 
with which he obeyed his commands. As no explana- 
tion nor entreaty could change the purpose of his fellow- 
traveller, our poet was reduced to the necessity of sepa- 
rating from him entirelj', or of instantly proceeding with 
him on their journey. He chose the last of these alter- 
natives ; and seating himself beside Nicol in the post- 
chaise, with mortification and regret, he turned his back 
on Gordon Castle, where he had promised himself some 
happy days. Sensible, however, of the great kindness 
of the noble family, he made the best return in hia 
pffwer by the following poem.* 

Streams ihat !rlide in orient plains. 
Never bound by winter's chains; 
Glowin? here on aroltieii sands, 
There coniniix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands: 

* Tills inlormntion is extracted from a letter of Dr. Couper of Focb* 
abers to the Editor. 



S6* CURRIES LIFE 

These, their richly-erleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves- 
Give me the stream that sweetly lavM 
The banks by Castle-Gordon. 

Spicy forests, evrr g:ay. 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil j 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slaie — 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms, by Castle-Gordon. 

Wildly here, witliout conlrol. 
Nature reigns and rules the whole; 
In that sober pensive mooil. 
Dearest to the feelincf soul 
She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
Life's poor day 1*11 musing rave, 
And find at niiihta sheltering- cave. 
Where waters flow and wildAvoods wave, 
By bonnie Castle-Gordon.* 

Burns remained at Edinburgh during the greater part 
of the winter, 1787-8, and again entered into the society 
and dissipation of that metropolis. It appears, that on 
the 3 1st of December, he attended a meeting to cele- 
brate the birth-day of the lineal descendant of the Scot- 
tish race of kings, the late unfortunate Prince Charles 
Edward. On this occasion our bard took upon himself the 
office of poet laureate, and produced an ode, which, though 
deficient in the complicated rhythm and polished versifi- 
cation that such compositions require, might on a fair 
competition, where energy of feelings and of expression 
were alone in question, have won the butt of Malmsey 
from the real Laureate of that day.f 

In relating the incidents of our poet's life in Edin- 
burgh, we ought to have mentioned the sentiments of 
respect and sympathy with which he ti'aced out the 
grave of his predecessor Fergusson, over whose ashes, 
in the Canongate churchyard, he obtained leave to erect 
an humble monument, which will be viewed by reflect- 
ing minds with no common interest, and which will 
awake, in the bosom of kindred genius, m.any a high 
emotion. Neither should we pass over the continued 
friendship he experienced from the amiable and ac- 
complished Blacklock. To his encouraging advice it 

* These verses our poet composed to be sung to Aforaf, a Highland 
air, of which he was extremely fond. 

t See page 121. 



OF ROBltRT BURNS. 37* 

was owing (as has already appeared) that Bums, in« 
stead of emigrating' to the West Indies, repaired to 
Edinburgh. He received him there with all the ardour 
of affectionate admiration ; he eagerly introduced him 
to the respectable circle of his friends ; he consulted his 
interest ; he blazoned his fame ; he lavished upon him 
all the kindness of a generous and feeling heart, into 
which nothing selfish or envious ever found admittance. 
Among the friends to whom he introduced Burns was 
Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, to whom our poet paid a 
Tisit in the autumn of 1787, at his delightful retirement 
in the neighbourhood of Stirling, and on the banks of 
the Teith. 

On settling with his publisher Mr. Creech, in Feb 
ruary, 1788, Burns found himself master of nearly five 
hundred pounds, after discharging all his expenses. 
Two hundred pounds he immediately advanced to hia 
brother Gilbert, who had taken upon himself the sup- 
port of their aged mother, and was straggling with 
many difficulties in the farm of Mossgiel. With the 
remainder of this sum, and some farther eventual pro- 
fits from his poems, he determined on settling himself 
for life in the occupation of agriculture, and took from 
Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, the farm of Ellisland, on the 
banks of the river Nith, six miles above Dumfries, on 
which he entered at Whitsunday, 1788. Having been 
previously recommended to the Board of Excise, his 
name had been put on the list of candidates for the 
humble office of a ganger, or exciseman ; and he imme- 
diately applied to acquiring the information necessary 
for filling that office, when the honourable Board might 
judge it proper to employ him. He expected to be 
called into service in the district in which his farm was 
situated, and vainly hoped to unite with success the 
labours of the farmer with the duties of the exciseman. 

When Bums had in this manner arranged his plana 
for futurity, his generous heart turned to the object of 
his most ardent attachment, and listening to no consider- 
ations but those of honour and affection, he joined with 
her in a public declaration of maiTiage, thus legalizing 
their union, and rendering it permanent for life. 

It was not convenient for Mrs. Burns to remove im- 
mediately from Ayrshire, and our poet therefore took 
up his residence alona at EliJsland, to prepare for the 



38» CURRIE'S LIFE 

reception of his wife and cliildi-en, who joined hiia 
towards the end of the \ear. 

The situation in wliich Burns now found himself wk* 
calcuhited to awaken reflection. The different steps he 
had of late taken were in their nature highly import 
ant, and might be said to have, in some measure, fixed 
his destiny. He had become a husband and a father ; 
he had engaged in the management of a considerable 
farm, a ditftcult and laborious ujidertaking- ; in his suc- 
cess the happiness of his family was involved ; it was 
time, therefore, to abandon the gaiety and dissipation of 
which he had been too much enamoured : to ponder 
seriously on the past, and to form virtuous resolutions 
respecting- the future. 

He commenced by immediately rebuilding the dwell- 
ing-house on his farm, which, in the state he found it, 
was inadequate to the accommodation of his family. 
On this occasion, he himself resumed at times the occu- 
pation of a labourer, and found neither his strength nor 
his skill impaired. Pleased with surveying the grounds 
he was about to cultivate, and with the rearing of a 
building that should give shelter to his wife and chil- 
dren, and, as he fondly liopcd, to his own gray hairs, 
sentiments of independence buoyed up his mind, pictures 
of domestic content and peace rose on his imagination: 
and a few days passed away, as he himself informs us, 
the most tranquil, if not the happiest, which he had ever 
experienced. 

His fame naturally drew upon him the attention of 
his neighbours, and he soon formed a general acquaint- 
ance in the district in which he lived. The public voice 
had now pronounced on the subject of his talents ; the 
reception he had met with in Edinburgh bad given him 
the currency which fashion bestows ; he had suimounted 
the prejudices arising from his humble birth, and he 
was received at the table of the gentlemen of Nithsdnle 
with welcome, with kindness, and even with respect. 
Their social parties too often seduced him from Jiis rustic 
labours, and it was not long, therefore, before l^urns 
began to view his farm with dislike and despondence. 
if not with disgust. 

Unfortunately he had for several j'ears looked to an 
office in Uie Excise as a certain means of livelihood, 
should his other expectations fail. As has already beeii 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 39« 

mentionerl, he had been recommended to the Board of 
Excise, and had received the instructions necessary for 
Buch a situation. He now applied to be employed ; and 
by the interest of Mr. Graham, of Fintry, was appointed 
to be exciseman, or, as it is vulgarly called, ganger, of 
the district in which he lived. His farm was, after 
this, in a great measure, abandoned to servants, while 
he betook, himself to the duties of his new appointment. 
He might indeed still be seen in the spring- directing 
his plough, a labour in which he excelled ; or with a 
wliite sheet containing his seed-corn, slung- across his 
shoulders, striding- with measured steps along- his turned 
up furrows, and scattering the grain iu the earth. But 
his farm no longer occupied the principal part of his 
care or his thoughts. It was not at Ellisland that he 
was now in general to 'be found. Mounted on horse- 
back, this high-minded poet was pursuing the defaulters 
of the revenue among the hills and vales of Nithsdale, 
his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature 
and muttering his zvay ward fancies as he moved along. 

Besides his duties in the Excise and his social plea- 
sures, other circumstances interfered with the attention 
of Burns to his farm. He engaged in fhe formation of a 
society for purchasing and circulating books among the 
farmers of his neighbourhood, of which he undertook 
the management; and he occupied himself occasionally 
in composing songs for the musical work of Mr. Johnson, 
then in the course of publication. These engagements, 
useful and honourable in themselves, contributed, no 
doubt, to the abstraction of his thoughts from the busi- 
ness of agriculture. 

The consequences may be easily imagined. Notwith- 
standing the uniform prudence and good management 
of Mrs.Burns, and though his rent -iras moderate and 
reasonable, our poet found it convenient, if not neces- 
sary, to resign his farm to Mr. Miller, after having 
occupied it three years and a half. His office in the Ex- 
cise had originally produced about fifty pounds per 
annum. Having acquitted himself to the satisfaction of 
the Board, he had been appointed to a new district, the 
emoluments of which rose to about seventy pounds per 
annum. Hoping to support himself and his family on 
his humble income till promotion should reach him, h« 
disposed of his stock and of his crop on EUisland by 



40* CUllRIE'S LIFE 

public auction, and removed to a small house whict he 
bad taken in Dumfries, about the end of the year 1701. 

Hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in social 
parties, had abstained from the habitual use of strong 
liquors, and his constitution had not suffered any per- 
ouinent injury from the irregularities of his conduct. In 
Dumfries, temptations to ' the sin that so easily beset 
him' continually presented themselves ; and his irregu- 
larities g-rew by degTees into habits. These temptations 
unhappily occurred during- his engagements in the busi- 
ness of his office, as well as during his hours of relaxa- 
tion ; and though he clearly foresaw the consequence 
of yielding to them, his appetites and sensations, which 
could not pervert the dictates of his judgment, finally 
triumpbcd over the powers of his will. 

Still, however, he cultivated the society of persons of 
taste and respectability, and in their company could im 
pose upon hiuiself the restraints of temperance and deco- 
rum. Nor was his muse dormant. In the four years 
which he lived at Dumfries, he produced many of his 
beautiful lyrics, though it does not appear that he 
attempted any poem of considerable length. 

Eurns had entertained hopes of promotion in the Ex 
cise ; but circumstances occurred which retarded their 
fulfilment, and which, in his own mind, destroyed all 
expectation of their being ever fulfilled. The extra 
ordinary events which ushered in the revolution of 
France interested the feelings, and excited the hopes, of 
men in every corner of Europe. Prejudice and tyranny 
seemed about to disappear from among men, and the 
day-star of reason to rise upon a benighted world. In 
the dawn of this beawtiful morning, the genius of French 
freedom appeared on our southern horizon with the 
countenance of an angel, but speedily assumed the fea 
tures of a demon, and Tanished in a shower of blood. 

Though pi-eviously a Jacobite and a cavalier. Burns 
had shared in the original hopes entertained of thie 
astonishing revolution by ardent and benevolent minds. 
The novelty and the hazard of the attempt meditated by 
the First, or Constituent Assembly, served rather, it is 
probable, to recommend it to his dai'ing temper ; and 
the unfettered scope proposed to be given to every kind 
of talents was doubtless gratifying to the feelings of 
lonscious but indignant genius. Burns foresaw not the 



llUBERr BURNS. 41* 

mighty ruin that was to be the immediate consequence 
of all enterprise, which, on its commencement, promised 
so mucli happiness to the human race. And even alter 
the career of guilt and of blood commenced, he could 
not immediately, it may be presumed, withdraw his 
partial gaze from a people who had so lately breathed 
the sentiments of universal peace and benignity, or 
obliterate in his bosom the pictures of hope and of hap- 
piness to which those sentiments had given birth. 
Under these impressions, he did not always conduct 
himself with the circumspection and prudence which his 
dependent situation seemed to demand. He engaged 
indeed in no popular associations, so common at tlie 
time of which we speak ; but in company he did not 
conceal his opinions of public measures, or of the refonus 
required in the practice of our government : and some- 
times, in his social and unguarded moments, he uttered 
them with a wild and unjustitiable vehemence. Infor- 
mation of this was given to the Board of Excise, with 
the exag'gerations so general in such cases. A superior 
otficer in that department was authorised to inquire into 
,his conduct. Burns defended himself in a letter ad- 
dressed to one of the Board, written with great inde- 
pendence of spirit, and with more than his accustomed 
eloquence. 'I'lie otficer appointed to inquire into his 
conduct gave a favourable report. His steady friend, 
Mr. Graham, of Fiutry, interposed his good odices in his 
behalf; and the imprudent ganger was suliered to retain 
his situation, but given to understand that his promotion 
was deferred, and must depend on his future behaviour. 

This circumstance made a deep impression on the 
mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his misconduct, 
and i-epreseuted him as actually dismissed from his 
office ; and this report induced a gentleman of much 
respectability to propose a subscription in his favour. 
The offer was refused by our poet in a letter of great 
elevation Of sentiment, in which he gives an account of 
the whole of this transaction, and defends himself from 
the imputation of disloyal sentiments on the one hand, 
and on the other from the charge of having made sub 
missions for the sake of his office, unworthy of his 
character. 

In the midst of all his wanderings, Burns met no- 
thing in his domestic circle but gentleness and forgive- 



42* CURRIES LIFE 

uess, except in tLe g'uawingd ol' hi.j own i-eiuuise. Ha 
acknowledged his trausgTest.iuii6 to the wiie of liis 
bosom, promised amendment, and ag-ain received pariion 
for his ortences. But as tlie strength of liis body de 
cayed, his i-esolutioji became feebler, and habit acijuired 
predominating- strength. 

From October, 1795, to the January following, an 
accidental complaint confined him to the house. A few 
days after he began to go abroad, he dined at a tavern, 
ajid returned about three o'clock, in a very cold morning, 
benumbed and iiitoxicated. This was followed by an 
attack of iheumatism, which confined him about a week. 
His appetite now began to fail; his hand shook, and his 
voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse 
became weaker and more rapid, and pain in the larg-er 
joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived him of the 
enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much dejected in 
his spirits, and too well aware of his real situation to 
enteitain hopes of recovery, he was ever musing- on the 
apj)roaching- desolation of his family, and his spirits 
sunk into a uniform gloom. 

it was hoped by some of his friends, that if he could 
live through the months of spring-, the succeeding sea- 
son niiglit restore him. But they were disappointed. 
Tlie gemal beams of the sun infused no vigour into hia 
languid frame; the summer wind blew upon him, but 
produced no refreshment. About the latter end of June 
he was advised to go into the country, and, impatient o.' 
medical advice, as well as of every species of control, 
he determined for himself to try the effects of bathing 
in the sea. For this purpose he took up his residence 
at Bi-ow, in Anuandale, about ten miles east of Dumfries, 
on tiie shore of the Solway-Frith. 

At fr.-st, Burns imagined bathing in the sea h;^d been 
of benetit to him ; the pains in his limbs were relieved ; 
but this was immediately followed by a new attack of 
fever. When brought back to his own house in Dum- 
flies, on the ISth July, he was no longer able to stand 
upright. At this time a tremor pervaded his frame: his 
tongue was parched, and his mind sunk into delirium, 
when not roused by conversation. On the second and 
third day the fever increased, and his strength dimi- 
nished. On the fourth, the sufferings of tiiis great but 
ill-fated genius were terminated, and a life was closed iu 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 43* 

which virtue and passion had been at perpetual va- 
riance. 

The death of Bums made a strong and general imprea- 
sion on all who had interested themselves in his charac- 
ter, and especially on the inhabitants of the town and 
country in which he had spent the latter years of his 
life. The Gentlemen-Volunteers of Dumfries determined 
to bury their illustrious associate with military honours, 
and every preparation was made to render this last ser- 
vice solemn and impressive. The Fencible Infantry of 
Au^us-shire, and the regiment of cavalry of the Cinque 
Ports, at that time quartered in Dumfries, offered tlicir 
as i ituDce on this occasion ; the principal inhabitants of 
tiie town and neighbourhood determined to walk in the 
funeral procession; and a vast concourse of persons as- 
sembled, some of them from a considerable distance, to 
w.tiiess the obsequies of the Scottish liard. On the even- 
ing- of the 25th of July, the remains of Burns were re- 
moved from his house to the Town-Hall, and the funeral 
took place on the succeedin>j day. A party of the Volun- 
teeis, selected to perforin the military duty in the church- 
yard, stationed themselves in the front of the procession 
with their arms reversed ; the main body of the corps 
surrounded and supported the coliin, on which were 
placed tiie hat and sword of their friend and fellow-sol- 
dier ; the numei'ous body of attendants rang-ed themselves 
in tlie rear ; while the Fencible re^^iments of infantry and 
cavalry lined the streets from the Town-Hall to the burial 
ground in tlie Southern church-yard, a distance of more 
than half a mile. The whole procession moved forward 
to tiiat sublime and affecting- strain of music, the Dead 
March in Saul: and three volleys fired over his grave 
marked *he return of Burns to his parent earth ! The 
spectacle was in a high degree grand and solemn, and 
according with the general sentiments of sympathy and 
forrow which the occasion had called forth. 

It was an affecting circumstance, that, on the morning 
of the day of her husband's funeral, Mrs. Burns was 
undergoing the pains of labour, and that during the so- 
lemn service we have just been describing, the post- 
humous son of our Poet was born. This infant boy, who 
■"eceivedthe name of Maxwell, was not destined to a long- 
life. He has already become an inhabitan* of the same 
grave with his celebrated father. 



44* CURlllE S LIFE 

The sense of his poverty, and of the approaching dis« 
tress of his infant family, pressed lieavily on Burns as 
he Jay on the bed of death. Yet he alluded to his indi- 
gence, at times, with something approaching to his 
wonted gaiety. — ' What business,' said he to Dr. Max- 
well, who attended him with the utmost zt;al, 'has a 
physician to waste his time on me ? I am a poor pigeon 
not worth plucking. Alas ! I have not feather enough 
upon me to carry me to my grave.' And when his rea- 
son M'as lost in delirium, his ideas ran in the same me- 
lancholy train : the horrors of a jail were continually 
present to his troubled imagination, and produced the 
most affecting exclamations. 

On the death of Burns, the inhabitants of Dumfries 
and its neighbourhood opened a subscription for the 
support of his wife and family. The subscription was 
extended toother parts of Scotland, and of England also, 
particularly London and Liverpool. By this means a 
sum was raised amounting to seven hundred pounds; 
a}ul thus the widow and children were rescued from 
iiuuiudiate distress, and the most melancholy of the fore- 
bodings of Burns happily disappointed. 

Barns, as has already been mentioned, was noarly 
five feet ten inches in height, and a form that indicated 
agility as well as strenj;th. His well-raised forehead, 
shaded with black curling hair, indicated extensive ca- 
pacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour and 
intelligence. His face was well formed; and his coun- 
tenance uncommonly interesting and expressive. The 
tones of his voice happily corresponded with the expres- 
sion of his features, and with the feelings of his mind. 
Wlien to these endowments are added a rapid and dis- 
tinct apprehension, a most powerful undei'standing, and 
a happy command of language— of strength as well as 
brilliancy of expression — we shall be able to account f'r 
the extraordinary attractions of his conversation — for 
the sorcery which, m his social parties, he seemed to 
exert on all around him. In the company of women 
this sorcery v/as more especially apparent. Tlieir pre- 
sence charmed the fiend of melancholy in his bosom, 
and awoke his happiest feelings; it excited the powers 
of his fancy, as well as the tenderness of his heart; 
and, by restraining the veiiemunce and the exuberance 
of his language, at times gave to his manners the im- 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 45* 

(tression of taste, and even of elegance, which in the 
company of men they seldom possessed. This influence 
was doubtless reciprocal. 



We conclude with the character of Burns as given by 
his countryman, Mr. Allan Cunningham, which is alike 
creditable to his taste, and does justice to the illustrious 
fame of the poet : — 

As a poet, Burns stands ia the first rank : his con- 
ceptions are original ; his thoughts new and weighty ; 
his manner unborrowed ; and even his language is his 
own. He owes no honour to his subjects, for they are 
all of an ordinary kind, such as humble life around him 
presented : he sought neither in high station nor in 
history for matter to his muse, and yet all his topics 
are simple, natural, and to be found without research. 
The Scottish bards who preceded him selected subjects 
which obtained notice from their oddity, and treated 
them in a way singular and outre. The verses of the 
first and fifth James, as well as those of Ramsay and 
Fergusson, are chiefly a succession of odd and ludicrous 
pictures, as true as ti-uth itself, and no more. To their 
graphic force of delineation Burns added sentiment and 
passion, and an elegant tenderness and simplicity. He 
took topics familiar to all; the Daisy grew on the lands 
he ploughed ; the Mouse built her nest on his own stub- 
ble-field ; the Haggis smoked on his own board; the 
Scotch Drink which he sung was distilled on the banks of 
Doon ; the Dogs that conversed so wittily and wisely 
were his own collies ; Tarn O'Shanter was a merry 
husbandman of his own acquaintance ; and even the 
" De'il himsel " was familiar to all, and had often 
alarmed, by his eldritch croon and the marks of his 
cloven foot, the pastoral people of Kyle. Burns was the 
first who taught the world that in lowly subjects high 
poetry resided. Touched by him, they were lifted at 
once into the regions of inspiration. His spirit as- 
cended into an humble topic, as the sap of spring ascends 
a tree to endow it with beauty and fragrance. 

Burns is our chief national Poet ; he owes nothing of 
the structui'e of his verse or of the materials of his 



46* CURRIE'S LIFE 

poetry to other lands — he is the offspring of the soil ; he 
is as natural to Scotland as the heath is to her hills, 
and all his brightness, like our nocturnal aurora, is of 
the north. Nor has he taken up fleeting themes; his 
song is not of the external mannei-s and changeable 
affectations of man— it is of the human heart — of the 
mind's hopes and fears, and of the soul's aspirations. 
Others give us the outward form and pressure of society 
— the court-costume of human nature — the laced lapelle 
and the epauletted shoulder. He gives us flesh and 
blood ; all he has be holds in common with mankind, 
yet all is national and Scottish. We can see to whom 
other bards have looked up for inspiration — like fruit 
of the finest sort, they smack of the stock on which 
they were grafted. Burns read Young, Thomson, Shen- 
stone, and Shakspeare ; yet there is nothing of Young, 
Thomson, Shenstone, or Shakspeare about him ; nor is 
there much of the old ballad. His light is of nature, 
like sunshine, and not reflected. When, in after-life, 
he tried imitation, his * Epistle to Grahame of Fintray' 
shewed satiric power and polish little inferior to Dryden. 
He is not only the ti-uest and best of Scottish Poets, 
but, in ease, iire, and passion, he is second to none save 
Shakspeare. I know of no one besides, whose verse 
flows forth so sparkling and spontaneous. On the lines 
of other bards, we see the marks of care and study — 
now and then they are happy, but they are as often 
elaborated out and brightened like a key by frequent 
handling. Burns is seldom or never so — he wrote from 
the impulse of nature — he wrote because his passions 
raged like so many demons till they got vent in rhyme. 
Others sit and solicit the muse, like a coy mistress, to be 
kind ; she came to Burns ' unsent for,' like the ' bon- 
nie lass' in the song, and showered her favours freely. 
The strength was equal to the harmony; rugged west- 
lin words were taken from the lips of the weaver and 
the ploughman, and adorned with melody and feeling; 
and familiar phrases were picked up from shepherds and 
mechanics, and rendered as musical as is Apollo's lute. 
— ' I can think of no verse since Shakspeare's,' said 
Pitt to Henry Addington, * which comes so sweetly and 
at once from nature.' ' Out of the eater came forth 
meat:' — the premier praised whom he starved. Burns 
was not a poet by fits and starts ; the mercury of his 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 47» 

genius stood always at the inspired point; like the 
fairy's drinking- cup, the fountain of his fancy was ever 
flowing and ever full. He had, it is true, set times and 
seasons when the fruits of his mind were more than 
usually abundant; but the song-s of spring were equal 
to those of summer — those of summer were not surpassed 
by those of autumn; the quantity might be diflerent, 
the flavour and richness were ever the same. 

His variety is equal to his originality. His humour, 
his gaiety, his tenderness, and his pathos, come all in a 
breath ; they come freely, for they come of their own 
accord ; nor are they huddled together at random, like 
doves and crows in a flock ; the contrast is never offen- 
sive ; the comic slides easily into the serious, the serious 
into the tender, and the tender into the pathetic. The 
witch's cup, out of which the wondering rustic drank 
seven kinds of wine at once, was typical of the muse of 
Burns. It is this which has made him welcome to all 
readers. — ' No poet,' says Scott, ' wiih the exception of 
Shakspeare, ever possessed the power of exciting the 
most varied and discordant emotions with such rapid 
transitions.' 

Notwithstanding the uncommon ease and natural ele 
gance of his musings — the sweet and impassioned tone 
of his verse, critics have not been wanting who perceived 
in his works the humility of his origin. His poems, I 
remember well enough, were considered by many, at 
first, as the labours of some gentleman who assumed the 
rustic for the sake of indulging in satire ; their know- 
ledge was reckoned beyond the reach, and their flights 
above the power, of a simple ploughman. Something- of 
tliis belief may be seen in Mrs. Scott of VVaucliope's 
letter : and when it was known for a truth that the au- 
thor was a ploughman, many lengthy discussions took 
place concerning the way in which the Poet had ac 
quired his knowledge. Ayr race-course was pointed out 
as the likely scene of his studies of high life, where he 
found what was graceful and elegant. When Jefi'ery 
wrote his depreciating criticism, he forgot that Burns 
had studied politeness in the very school where he him- 
stlf was polished : — 

' I've been at drunken writers' feasts,' 
claims a scholarship which the critic might bftve re- 



48* CURllIE'S LIFE 

spected. If sharp epigrams, familiar gallantry, love of in- 
dependence, and a leaning to the tumid be, as that critic 
assures us, true symptoms of vulgar birth, then Swifc was 
a scavenger, Rochester a coalheaver. Pope a carman, 
and Thomson a boor. He might as well see lowness of 
origin in the James Stuart who wrote ' Christ's Kirk on 
the green,' as in the Robert Burns who wrote ' Tam 
O'Shanter.' The nature which Burns infused into all 
he wrote deals with internal emotions: feeling is no 
more vulgar in a ploughman than in a prince. 

In all this I see the reluctance of an accomplished 
scholar to admit the merits of a rustic poet who not only 
claimed, but took, the best station on the Caledonian 
Parnassus. It could be no welcome sight to philoso- 
phers, historians, and critics, to see a peasant, fragrant 
from the furrow, elbowing his way through their po- 
lished ranks to the highest place of honour, exclaiming — 

' What's a' your jargon o' your schools!' 
Some of them were no doubt astonished and incensed ; 
nature was doing too much : they avenged themselves 
by advising him to leave his vulgar or romantic fancies 
and grow classical. His best songs they called random 
flights ; his happiest poems the fruit of a vagrant im- 
pulse ; they accounted him an accident — * a wild colt of 
a comet' — a sort of splendid error : and refused to look 
Upon him as a true poet, raised by the kindly warmth 
of nature ; for they thought nothing beautiful which 
was not produced or adorned by learning. 

Burns is a thorough Scotchman; his nationality, like 
cream on milk, floats on the surface of all his works ; it 
mingles in his humour as well as in his tenderness ; yet 
it is seldom or never ofi'ensive to an English ear ; there 
is nothing narrow-souled in it. He rejoices in Scotland's 
ancient glory and in her present strength ; he bestows 
his affection on her heathery mountains, as well as on 
her romantic vales ; he glories in the worth of her hus- 
bandmen, and in the loveliness of her maidens. The 
brackeny glens and thistly brae-sides of the North are 
more welcome to his sight than are the sunny dales of 
Italy, fragrant with ungathered grapes; its men, if not 
quite divinities, are more than mortal ; and the women 
are clothed in beauty, and walk in a light of their own 
creating ; a haggis is food fit for gods ; brose is a better 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 49* 

sort of ambrosia ; * wi' twopenny we fear nae evil ;' and 
■whiskey not only makes iis insensible of danger, but 
inspires noble verse and heroic deeds. There is some- 
thing at once ludicrous and dignified in all this : to 
excite mingled emotions was the aim of the Poet. Be- 
sides a love of country, there is an intense love of free- 
dom about him ; not the savage joy in the boundless 
forest and the unlicensed range, but the calm deter- 
mination and temperate delight of a reflecting mind. 
Burns is the bard of liberty — not that which sets 
fancy free and fetters the body; lie resists oppression — 
he covets free thought and speech — he scorns slavish 
obedience to the mob as much as he detests tyranny in 
the rulers. He spoke out like a bold-inspired person; 
he knew his word would have weight with the world, 
and sung his ' Man's a man for a' that,' as a watch- 
word to future generations — as a spell against slavery. 

The best poems of Burns are about rural and pastoral 
life, and relate the hopes, joys, and aspirations, of that 
portion of the people falsely called the humble, as if 
grandeur of soul were a thing ' born in the purple,' and 
not the free gift and bounty of heaven. The passions 
and feelings of man are disguised, not changed, in 
polished society ; flesh and blood are the same beneath 
hoddin' gray as beneath three-piled velvet. This was 
what Burns alluded to when he said he saw little in 
the splendid circles of Edinburgh which was new to 
him. His pictures of human life and of the world are of 
a mental as well as national kind. His ' Twa Dogs' 
prove that happiness is not unequally diS'used : ' Scotch 
Drinic gives us fire-side enjoyments ; the ' Earnest Cry 
and Prayer' shews the keen eye which humble people 
cast on their rulers ; the 'Address to the Deil' indulges 
in religious humanities, in which sympathy overcomes 
fear: ' The Auld Mare,' and ' The Address to Mailie,' 
enjoin, by the most simple and touching examples, 
kuianess and mercy to dumb creatures ; ' The Holy Fair' 
desires to curb the licentiousness of those who seek 
amusement instead of holiness in religion ; ' Man was 
made to Mourn' exhorts the strong and the wealthy to 
be mindful of the weak and the poor; * Halloween' 
shews us superstition in a domestic aspect ; ' Tam 
O'Shanter' adorns popular belief with humorous terror, 
and helps us to laugh old dreads away ; ' The Mouse,' 



50* CURRIE'S LIFE 

in its weakness, contrasts with man in liis strength, and 
preaches to us the instability of happiness on earth ; 
■while ' The Mountain Daisy' pleads with such moral 
pathos the cause of the flowers of the field sent by God 
to adorn the earth for man's pleasure, that our feet have 
pressed less ungraciously on the ' wee, modest, crimson - 
tipped flower,' since his song was written. 

Others of his poems have a still grander reach. ♦ The 
Vision' reveals the Poet's plan of Providence, proves the 
worth of eloquence, bravery, honesty, and beauty, and 
that even the rustic bard himself is a useful and orjia- 
mental link in the great chain of being. ' The Cotter's 
Saturday Night' connects us with the invisible world, 
and shews that domestic peace, faithful love, and patri- 
otic feelings are of earthly things most akin to the joys 
of heaven ; while the divine ' Elegy on Matthew Hen- 
derson' unites human nature in a bond of sympathy with 
the stars of the sky, the fowls of the air, the beasts of 
the lield, the flowery vale, and the lonely motuitain. 
The hastiest of iiis eiTusions has a wise aim ; and the 
eloquent Curran perceived this when he spoke of the 
' sublime morality of Burns.' 

Had Burns, in his poems, preached only so many 
moral sermons, his audience miuht have been a select, 
but it would have been a limited, one. The sublimest 
ti-uths, like the surest medicines, are sometimes imeasy 
to swallow: for this the Poet provided an eflectual 
remedy : he associated his moral counsel with so much 
tenderness and pathos, and garnished it all about with 
such exquisite humour, that the public, like tne giant 
drinking the wine in Homer, gaped, and cried, ' More! 
this is divine!' H'a reader has such a limited soul as to 
love humour only, why Burns is his man — he has more 
of it than any modern poet; should he covet tenderness, 
he caimot read far in Burns without finding it to his 
mind ; should he desire pathos, the Scottisli Peasant has 
it of the purest sort; and if he wish for them altogether 
let him try no other bard — for in what other poet will 
he find them woven n}ore naturally into the web of song? 
It is by thus suiting- himself to so many minds and tastes, 
that Burns has become such a favourite with the world; 
if, in a strange company, we should chance to stumble 
in quo^ing him, an English voice, or an Irish one, cor- 
rects us ; much of the business of life is mingled with his 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 51* 

>erse , and the lover, whether in joy or sorrow, will find 
that Burns has anticipated every throb of his heart : — 

' Every pulse along: his veins, 
And every roving fancy.' 

He was tlie first of our northern poets who brought 
deep passion and high energ-y to the service of the muse, 
who added sublimity to simplicity, and found loveliness 
and eleg-anne dwelling- among the cottages of his native 
land, ilis simplicity is graceful as well as strong; he 
is never mean, never weak, never vulgar, and but sel- 
dom coarse. All he says is above the mark of other 
men : his language is familiar, yet dignified ; careless, 
yet concise; and he touches on the most ordinary — nay, 
perilous themes, with a skill so rai-e and felicitous, that 
good fortune seems to unite with good taste in helping 
hiin through the Slough of Despond, in which so many 
meaner spirits have wallowed. No one has greater 
power in adorning the humble, and dignifying the plain 
— no one else has so happily picked the sweet fresh 
flowers of poesy from among the thorns and brambles 
ot' the ordinary paths of existence. 

' rhe excellence of Burns,' says Thomas Carlyle — a 
true judge, ' is, indeed, among the rarest, whether in 
poetry or pi-ose ; but at the same time it is plain and 
easily recognized — his sincerity — his indisputable air of 
truth. Here are no fabulous woes or joys ; no hollow 
fantastic sentimentalities ; no wire-drawn refinings 
cither in thought or feeling: the passion that is traced 
before us has glowed in a living heart ; the Opinion he 
utters has risen in his own understanding, and been a 
light to his own steps. He does not write from hearsay, 
but from sight and experience : it is the scenes he has 
lived and laboured amidst that he describes ; those 
scenes, rude and humble as they are, have kindled beau- 
tiful emotions in his soul, noble thoughts, and definite 
resolves; and he speaks forth what is in him, not from 
any outward call of vanity or interest, but because his 
heart is too full to be silent. He speaks it, too, with 
such melody and modulation as he can — in homely rnstic 
jingle — but it is his own, and genuine. This is the 
grand secret for finding readers, and retaining them : 
let him who would move and convince others, be first 
moved and convinced himself.' 



fi2* CURRIE'S LIFE 

It must be mentioned, in abatement of this high praise, 
that Bums occasionally speaks with too little delicacy. 
He violates without necessity the true decorum of his 
subject, and indulges in hidden meanings and allusions, 
such as the most tolerant cannot applaud. Nor is this 
the worst : he is much too free in his treatment of mat- 
ters holy. He ventures to take the Deity to task about 
his own passions, and the order of nature, in a way less 
reverent than he employs when winning his way to 
woman's love. He has, in truth, touches of profanity 
which make the pious shudder. In the warmth of 
conversation such expressions might escape from the 
lips; but they should not have been coolly sanctioned 
in the closet with the pen. These deformities are not, 
however, of frequent occurrence; and, what is some 
extenuation, they are generally united to a noble or 
natural sentiment. He is not profane or indecorous for 
t\\fi sake of being so : his faults, as well as his beauties, 
come from an overflov/ing fulness of mind- 

His songs have all the beauties, and none of the faults, 
of his poems. As compositions to be sung, a finer and 
more scientific harmony, and a more nicely-modulated 
dance of words were required, and Burns had both in 
perfection. They flow as readily to the music as if both 
the air and verse had been created together, and blend 
and mingle like two uniting streams. The sentiments are 
from nature; and they never, in any instance, jar or 
jangle with the peculiar feeling of the music. While 
humming the air over daring tlie moments of composi- 
tion, the words came and took their proper places, each 
according to the meaning of the air : rugged expressions 
could not well mingle with thoughts inspired by har- 
mony. 

In his poems Burns supposes himself in the society of 
men, and indulges in reckless sentiments and unmea- 
stired language : in his songs he imagines himself in 
softer company : when woman's eye is on him he is 
gentle, persuasive, and impassioned ; he is never bois- 
terous ; he seeks not to say fine things, yet he nevei 
misses saying them ; hijs compliments are uttered of free 
will, and all his thoughts flow naturally fiom th<; sub- 
ject. There is a natural grace and fascination aoovit his 
songs; all is earnest and from the heart: he is n>ne. of 
your millinery bards who deal in jewelle.i Ioc-ls, i-iced 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 5Z* 

garments, and shower pearls and gems by the bushel on 
youth and beauty. He makes bright eyes, flushing 
cheeks, the music of the tongue, and the pulses' mad- 
dening play, do all. Those charms he knew came from 
heaven, and not out of the tirewoman's basket, and 
would last when fashions changed. It is remarkable 
that the most naturally elegant and truly impassioned 
songs in the language were written by, a ploughman-lad 
in honour of the rustic lasses around him. 

If we regard the songs of Burns as so many pastoral 
pictures, we will find that he has an eye for the beau 
ties of nature as accurate and as tasteful as the happiest 
landscape painter. Indeed, he seldom gives us a finished 
image cf female loveliness without the accompaniment 
of blooming flowers, running streams, waving woods, 
and the melody of birds : this is the frame-work which 
sets ofl" the portrait. He has recourse rarely to embel- 
lishments borrowed from art ; the lighted hall and the 
thrilling strings are less to him than a walk with her 
he loves by some lonely rivulet's side, when the dews 
are beginning to glisten on the lilies and weigh them 
down, and the moon is moving not unconsciously above 
them. In all this we may recognize a true poet — one 
who felt that woman's loveliness triiimphed over these 
fragrant accompaniments, and who regarded her still as 
the ' blood-royal of life,' the brightest part of creation. 

Those who desire to feel, in their full force, the songs 
of Bums, must not hope it from scientific singers in the 
theatres. The right scene is the pastoral glen ; the right 
tongue fcr utterance is that of a sliepherd lass ; and the 
proper song is that which belongs to her present feelings. 
The gowany glen, the nibbling sheep, the warbling 
birds, and the running stream, give the inanimate, while 
the singer herself personates the living beauty of the 
song. I have listened to a country girl singing one of 
his songs, while she spread her webs to bleach by a 
running stream — ignorant of her audience — with such 
feeling and eff'ect as were quite overpowering. This 
will keep the fame of Burns high among us ; should the 
printer's ink dry up, ten thousand melodious tongue* 
will preserve his songs to remote generations. 

The variety, too, of his lyrics is equal to their truth 
and beauty. He has written songs which echo the feel- 
ings of every age and condition in life. He personatea 



5i* CURRIE'S LIFE 

all th6 passions of man and all the t radations of alFec 
tiou. He sings the lover hastening- through storm and 
tempest to see the object of his attachment — the swelling 
stream, the haunted wood, and the suspicious parents, 
are all alike disrey:arded. He paints him again on an 
eve of July, when the air is calm, the grass fragrant, 
and no sound is abroad save the amorous cry of the part- 
ridge, enjoying- tlie beauty of the evening as he steals 
by some unfrequented way to the trysting thorn, whither 
his mistress is hastening ; or he limns him on a cold 
and snowy night, enjoying a brief parley with her 
whom he loves, from a cautiously opened window, which 
shews her white arm and bright eyes, and the shadow 
perhaps of a more fortunate lover, which accounts for 
tlie mai'ks of feet impressed in the snow on the way to 
her dwelling. Nor is he always sighing and vowing; 
some of his heroes answer scorn with scorn, are saucy 
with the saucy, and proud with the proud, and comfort 
themselves v/ith sarcastic comments on woman and her 
fickleness and folly ; others drop all allegiance to tliat 
fanta.stic idol beauty, and while mirth abounds, and ' the 
wine-cup shines in light,' find wondrous solace. He 
laughs at the sex one moment, and adores them the 
next — he ridicules and satirizes — he vows and entreats 
— he tiaduces and he deifies — all in a breath. Burns 
was intimate witli the female heart, and with the ro- 
mantic mode of courtship practised in the pastoral dis- 
tricts of Caledonia. He was early initiated into all the 
mysteries of rustic love, and had tried his eloquence 
with such success among the maidens of the land, that 
one of them said, 'Open your eyes and shut your eurs 
with Rob Burns, and there's nae fear o' your heart; but 
close your eyes and open your ears, and you'll lose it.' 
Of all lyric poets he is the most prolific and various. 
Of one hundred and sixty songs which he communi- 
cated to Johnson's Museum, all, save a score or so, are 
either his composition, or amended with such skill and 
genius as to be all but made his own. For Thomsou 
he wrote little short of a hundred. He took a peculiar 
pleasure in ekeing out and amending the old and im 
perfect songs of his country. He has exercised hi« 
fancy and taste to a greater extent that v.'ay than anti- 
quarians either like or seem willing to acknowledge. 
Scott, who performed for the ballads of Scotland what 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 65* 

Burns did for many of her songs, perceived this :— 'The 
Scottish tunes and songs,' he remarked, ' preserved for 
Burns that inexpressible charm which they have ever 
afforded to his countrymen. He entered into the idea 
of collecting their fragments with the zeal of an enthu- 
siast ; and few, whether serious or humorous, passed 
through his hands without receiving some of those 
magic touches, which, without greatly altering the 
song, restored its original spirit, or gave it more than it 
previously possessed. So dexterously are those touches 
combined with the ancient structure, that the rifaccla- 
mento, in many instances, could scarcely have heen de- 
tected without the avowal of the Bard himself. Neither 
would it be easy to mark his share in the individual 
ditties. Some he appears to have entirely rewritten ; to 
ethers he added supplementary stanzas ; in some he re- 
tained only the leading lines and the chorus; and 
others he merely arranged and ornamented.' No one 
has ever equalled him in these exquisite imitations : he 
caught up the peculiar spirit of the old song at once ; 
he thought as his elder brother in rhyme thought, and 
communicated an antique sentiment and tone to all the 
verses which he added. Finer feeling, purer fancy, 
more exquisite touches of nature, and more vigorous 
thoughts, were the result of this intercourse. Burns 
found Scottish song like a fruit-tree in winter, not dead, 
though unbudded ; nor did he leave it till it was covered 
with blooiii and beauty. He sharpened the sarcasra, 
deepened the passion, heightened the humour, and abated 
the indelicacy of his country's lyrics. 

• To Burns's ear,' says Wilson — a high judge in all po- 
etic questions—' the lowly lays of Scotland were familiar, 
and most dear were they all to his heart. Often had he 
•' sung aloud old songs that are the music of the heart ;" 
and, some day, to be able himself to breathe such strains 
was his dearest, his highest amhition. His genius and 
his moral frame were thus embued with the spirit at 
our old traditionary ballad poetry ; and, as soon as all 
his passions were ripe, the voice of song was on all oc- 
casions of deep and tender interest— the voice of his 
daily, his nightly speech. Those old songs were his 
models ; he felt as they felt, and looked up with the 
same eyes on the same objects. So entirely was their 
language his language, that all the beautiful lines, and 



56* CURRIE'S LIFE 

half-lines, and single words that, because of something 
in them most exquisitely true to nature, had survived 
the rest of the compositions to which they had long ago 
belonged, were sometimes adopted by hira, almost un- 
consciously it might seem, in his finest inspirations ; and 
oftener still sounded in his ear like a key-note, on 
which he pitched his own plaintive tune of the heart 
till the voice and language of the old and new days 
were but as one.' He never failed to surpass what he 
imitated ; he added fruit to the tree and fragrance to 
the flower. That his songs are a solace to Scottish hearts 
in far lands we know from many sources; the poetic 
testimony of an inspired witness is all we shall call for 
at present : — 

'Encanip'd by Indian rivers wild, 
Tlie soldier, restinsf on liis arms. 
In Burns's carol sweet recalls 
The scenes that bless'd hlni when a child, 
And ^lovvs and grliiddens at the charms 
Ot' Scotia's woods and waterfalls.' 

A want of chivalry has been instanced as a radical 
fault in the lyrics of Burns. He certainly is not of the 
number who approach beauty with much awe or reve- 
rence, and who raise loveliness into an idol for man to 
fall down and worship. The polished courtesies and 
romantic affectations of high society had not found their 
way among the maidens of Kyle ; the midnight tryste, 
and the stolen interview — the rapture to meet — and tlxe 
anguish to part — the secret vow, and the scarce audible 
whisper, were dear to their bosoms ; and they were un- 
acquainted with moving in parallel lines, and breathing 
sighs into roses, in the affairs of the heart. To draw a 
magic circle of affection round those he loved, which 
could not be passed without lowering them from the 
station of angels, forms no part of the lyrical system of 
Burns' poetic wooing : there is no affectation in him ; he 
speaks like one unconscious of the veneered and var- 
nished civilities of artificial life ; he feels that true love 
is unacquainted with fashionable distinctions, and in all 
he has written has thought but of the natural man and 
woman, and the uninfluenced emotions of the heart. 
Some have charged him with a want of delicacy — an 
accusation easily answered: he is rapturous, he is 
wanned, he is impassioned — his heart cannot contain 
its ecstasies ; he g'lows with emotion as a crystal goblet 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 57* 

with wine; but in none of his best songs is there the 
least indelicacy. Love is with him a leveller ; passion 
and feeling are of themselves as little influenced by 
fashion and manners as the wind is in blowing, or the 
sun is in shining ; chivalry, and even notions of deli- 
cacy, are changeable things ; our daughters speak no 
longer with the free tongues of their great-grandmothers, 
and young men no longer challenge wild lions, or keep 
dangerous castles, in honour of their ladies' eyes. 

The prose of Burns has much of the original merit of 
his poetry ; but it is seldom so pure, so natural, and so 
sustained. It abounds with bright bits, line out-flash- 
ings, gentle emotions, and uncommon warmth and ar- 
dour. It is very unequal ; sometimes it is simple and 
vigorous ; now and then inflated and cumbi'ous; and he 
not seldom labours to say weighty and decided things, 
in which a ' double double toil and trouble' sort of la- 
bour is visible. ' But hundreds even of his most fami- 
liar letters' — I adopt the words of Wilson — ' are perfectly 
artless, though still most eloquent compositions. Simple 
we may noi call them, so rich are they in fancy, so 
overflowing in feeling, and dashed off in every other 
paragraph with the easy boldness of a great master, 
conscious of his strength even at times when, of all 
things in the world, he was leabt solicitous about dis- 
play ; while some there are so solemn, so sacred, so re- 
ligious, that he who can read them with an unstirred 
heart can have no trust, no hope, in the immortality of 
the soul.' Those who desire to feel him in his strength 
must taste him in liis Scottish spirit. There he spoke 
the language of life : in English, he spoke that of edu- 
cation ; he had to think in the former before he could 
express himself in the latter. In the language in which 
his mother sung and nursed him he excelled ; a dialect 
reckoned barbarous by scholars, grew classic and ele- 
vated when uttered by the tongue of Robert Burns. 

Of .the family and fame of the Poet something should 
be said. Good and active friends bestirred themselves 
after his death: Currie munificently wrote his life and 
edited his works : Robert, his eldest son, was placed in 
the Stamp-office by Lord Sidmouth: cadecships in India 
were generously obtained for William and James by Sir 
James Shaw, who otherwise largely befriended the fa- 
mily : and Lord Panmure nobly presented one hundred 



68* CURRIE'S LIFE 

pounds annually to his widow, till the success of hef 
sons in India enabled them to interpose, and take — not 
without remonstrance — that pious duty on themselves. 
The venerable Mrs. Burns lives* in the house where 
her eminent husband died: all around her has an air 
of comfort, and she has been enabled to save a small 
sum out of her annual income : her brother, a London 
merchant of much respectability, has long- interested 
himself in her affairs : and her brother in-law, Gilbert, 
died lately, after having established his family success- 
fully in the world. 

Tlie citizens of my native Dumfries feel the honour 
which the Poet's ashes confer on them : Mill-hole-brae 
has been named Burns-street: the walks are reverenced 
where he loved to muse; and this grave may be traced 
by the well-trodden pathways which pass the unnoticed 
tombs of the learned, the pious, the bi-ave, and the far- 
descended, and lead to that of the inspired Peasant. 
Honours have elsewhere been liberally paid to his 
name : a fair monument is raised to him on the Doon : 
a noble statue, from the hand of Flaxman, stands iu 
Edinburgh ; and Burns-clubs celebrate his birth-day 
in the chief towns and cities of Britain. On the banks 
of the Amazons, Mississippi, St. Lawrence, Indus, and 
the Ganges, his name is annually invoked and his songs 
sung: Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Campbell, have 
celebrated him in verse; statues are made from his 
chief characters ; pictures painted from his vivid deli- 
neations ; and even the rafters of Alloway-kirk have 
been formed into ornaments for the necks of ladies, and 
quaighs for the hands of men. Such is the influence of 
g-enius 1 



The following beautiful tribute to the memory of Bumsi 
is by Mr. Roscoe : 

Rear hiah thy bleak majestic hills. 

Thy slielter'd vaHe\s proudly spread. 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand' rills, 

And wave thy heaihs with blossoms red: 
But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heiifhts, thy woodland reign. 
Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead, 

That ever breathed the soothing strain ! 

» Mrs Burns died 18.14. 



OF ROBERT BURKS. 59* 

As greei! thy tdwerinsr pines may grow, 

As cltur lliy strfams may sueed alongp. 
As bright thy summer suns may fflow. 

As g-aily charm thy feathery throng; 
But now, unheeded is the song-, 

And diilPuid lifeless all around, 
For his wiia harp lies all unstrung'-, 

And cold the hand that waked its sound. 
What thoug:h thy vig-orous offspring- rise. 

In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
Tliough beauty in thy dauyrhters' eyes. 

And health In every feature dwell ; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell, 

In strains iui|)assioii'd, fond, and free. 
Since he no more the sons? shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and Ihee ' 

With step-dame eye and frown severe 

His hapless youth why didst thou view ? 
For all thy jo\s to him were dear, 

And all his \ows to thee were due: 
Nor ffieuter biiss his bosom knew. 

In opeiiina youth's delightful prime, 
Than when thy favonrin;^ eir he drew 

To listen to his chanted rhyme. 

Thv lonely wastes and frowniusr skies 

To him were all with rapture Yraught; 
He heard with joy the tempest ri»e 

That waked liiiii to snidimer thought; 
And oft thy windin- dells he s'.uicht," 

Where wiid rt.nvers ponr'd their rathe perfjlM 
And with sincere dcMition brouirlit 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 
But ah! no fond mnfenial smile 

His unprotected youth enjoy'd; 
His limbs inured to eurly toil," 

His days with early hardships tried! 
And more to unirk the ulooniy void. 

And bid him frel his iniserv. 
Before lii^ iid'ant eyes wonld'i^lide 

Day-dreams of iina.ortality. 

Yet, not by cold ne?!ect depress'd, 

With sinewy arm he rurn'd the soil. 
Sunk with t!ie cveninii-sun to rest. 

And met at morn Ins c rliesl smilo. 
Waked byl-.is rustic pipe meanwhile 

The powers of f;ui( v came alon?, 
.And sooth'd his leiej-tlien'd hours'^of toil 

With native wit and spriirhtly song. 
~Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly lied, 

When visrorous healih from labour sprin(|». 
And bhmd Contentment sooths the bed. 

And Sleep his reariv opiate brings; 
And hoverins- round on airy wiusrs 

Float the liLdit forms of young- Desire, 
That of unutierable tlnn-s 

The soft and slmdowy hope inspire. 
How spells of mightier power prepare. 

Bid nriL'^hie r 1 hantoms round him dance; 
Let Flattery spread her viewless snare. 

And Fame attract his vajrrant srlance: 



60* CURRIE'S LIFE. 

Let gpriplitly Pleasure too advance, 
'Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone. 

Till lost in love's delirious trance. 
He scorn the joys his youth has known. 

Let Friendship ponr her brip^litest blaze, 

Expanding- all tlie bloom of soul ; 
And Mirth concentre all her rays, 

And point them from the sparkling bowl] 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfined. 
And confidence that spjirns control 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind! 

And lead his steps those bowers amon^. 

Where ele^^nce with splendour vies. 
Or Science bids her favour'd throng 

To more refined sensations rise: 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys, 

And freed from each laborious strife. 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polish'd life. 

Then, whilst his throbbing- veins beat high 

With every impulse of delii^ht, 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy. 

And shroud the scene in shades of night; 
And let Despair with wizard lisrht 

Disclose the yavvninjr gulf below. 
And pour incessant on his sight 

Her spectred ills and shapes of woe : 

And shew beneath a cheerless shed. 

With sorrowing hcar> and streaming eye* 
In silent srief where droops her head, 

The partner of his early joys; 
And let his infants' tende'r cries 

His fond parental succour claim, 
And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 
»Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds; 

His high reluctant spirit bends; 
In bitterness of soul lie bleeds. 

Nor lonifer with his fate contends. 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As Genius thus degraded lies; 
Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 

That sl'.r'ouds the Poet's ardent eyes. 
Rear hi<,'h thv bleak majestic hills. 

Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red; 
Bvt never more shall poet tread 

'i'ny airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead 

That evf breathed the soothing stralB. 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

The following trifles are not the production of the 
poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and 
perhaps amid the elegances and idlenesses of upper 
life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to 
Theocritus or Vii'gil. To the Author of this, these 
and other celebrated names, their countrymen, are, 
at least in their original language, a fountain shut 
up, and a book sealed. Unacquainted with the 
necessary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he 
sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw 
in himself and his rustic compeers around him, in 
his and their native language. Though a rhymer 
from his earliest years, at least from the earliest im- 
pulses of the softer passion, it was not till very lately 
that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of friend- 
ship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him think 
any thing of his worth shewing; and none of the 
following works were composed with a viev/ to the 
press. To anuise himself with the little creations of 
his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a labori- 
ous life ; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, 
the gi'iefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast; to 
find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a 
world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the 
poetical mind — these were his motives for courting 
the Muses, and in these he found Poetry to be its 
own reward. 

Now that he appears in the public character of an 
Author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear 



2 PREFACE. 

is fame to the rhyming ti-ibe, that even he, an ob 
scure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at the thought 
of being branded as — an impertinent blockhead, 
obtruding his nonsense on the world ; and, becanse 
he can make a shift to jingle a few doggerel Scouish 
rhymes together, looking upon himself as a Poet ol 
no small consequence forsooth ! 

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shcn 
stons, whose divine Elegies do honour to our lan- 
guage, our nation, and our species, that * Humility 
has depressed many a genius to a hennit, but nevei 
raised one to fame !' If any critic catches at the word 
genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he cer 
tainly looks upon himsolf as possessed of some poetic 
abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he 
has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst 
character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will 
ever give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or 
the glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Fer- 
gusson, he, with equal, unaffected sincerity, de- 
clares, that even in his highest pulse of vanity, he 
has not the most distant pretensions. These two 
justly admired Scottish Poets he has often had in his 
eye in the following pieces ; but rather with a view 
to kindle at their flame, than for sei-vile imitation. 

To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most 
sincere thanks — not the mercenary bow, over a 
counter — but the heart-thi-obbing gratitude of the 
Bard, conscious how much he owes to benevolence 
and friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves it, 
in that dearest wish of evei-y poetic bosom — to be 
distinguished. He begs his readers, particularly the 
learned and the polite, who may honour him with a 
perusal, that they will make every allowance for 
education and circumstances of life ; but if, after a 
fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand 
convicted of dullness and nonsense, let him be done 
by as he would in that case do by others— let bim 
be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and ob- 
livion. 



DEDICATION 
TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GEN FLEMEN OF THE 
CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



My LoRDa AND Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose 
highest ambition is to sing in his Country's serrice 
— where shall he so properly look for patronage as to 
the illustrious names of his native Land — those who 
bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their 
Ancestors? The Poetic Genius of my Country found 
me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the 
plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. 
She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes 
and rural pleasures of my native soil in my native 
tong-ue. I tuned my wild, artless notes as she in- 
spired. She whispered me to come to this ancient 
Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my songs under 
your honoured protection. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not 
approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in th« 
usual style of Dedication, to thank you for past 
favours. That path is so hackneyed by prostituted 
learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor 
do I present this address with the venal soul of a 
servile Author, looking for a continuation of those 
favours. 1 was bred to the plough, and am inde- 
pendent. I come to claim the common Scottish 
name with you, my illustrious countrymen ; and to 



4 DEDICATION. 

tell the world that I glory in the fitle. I come to 
congratulate my Counti-y that the blood of her 
ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that 
from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she 
may expect protection, wealth and liberty. In the 
last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to 
the great Fountain of honour, the Monarch of the 
universe, for your welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the 
ancient and favourite amusement of your forefathers, 
may Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may social 
Joy await your return ! When harassed in courts or 
camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad mea- 
sures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth 
attend your return to your native Seats ; and may 
domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet 
you at your gates ! May CoiTuption shrink at your 
kindling, indignant glance I and may Tyranny in the 
Ruler, and Licentiousness in the People, equally find 
you an inexorable foe I 

I have the honour to be. 

With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect. 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted, humble Servant, 

ROBERT BURNS, 

Edinburgh, ApriU, 1787. 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



THE TWA DOGS. 



'TwAS in that place o'* Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
ypon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame,** 
Forgather 'd<= ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Ccesar, 
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,* 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs 
But whalpit^ some place far abroad. 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw^ brass collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar j 
But though he was o' high degree. 
The fients a pride nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae^ spent an hour caressin', 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsy's messin' :' 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,'' 
Nae tawted' tyke,™ tho' e'er sae duddie," 
But he wad stan't,o ^s glad to see him. 
And stroan'tP on stanes and hillocks^ wi' him. 

a Of. b Had notliin? to do at home. c Met 

d Ears. e Whelped. / Lar^e, handsome. 

e Fiend, devil. h Would have. i A small dog;. 

k Siwthy.or smith's work-shop. / Having the hair matted together 

m Dog. n Ragged. 

Stand, or stop. P »o P'^s. 

g Stones and little hills. 



6 BURNS' POEMS. 

The tither'" was a ploughman's collie," 
A rhyming, ranting, roaring billie,* 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Lnath ca'd him. 
After some dog in Highland sang," 
Was made lang syne" — Lord knows how lang 

He was a gash" and faithful tyke. 
As ever lap^ a sheugh'^ or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie,^ baws'nt** face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka*= place. 
His breast was white, his touzie'^ back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie^ tail, wi' upward curl. 
Hung o'er his hurdies^ wi' a swirl.ff 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,^ 
An' unco pack and thick' thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles*' snufF't and snowkit,' 
Whyles"* mice and moudieworts" they howkit j 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion. 
An' worried ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin'P weary grown. 
Upon a knowei they sat them down. 
And there began a lang digression 
About the Lords o' the Creation. 



I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw. 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.*" 

Our laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain,* and a' his stents :* 

r Tlie other. s A country cur. t A young fellow 

H CuchuUin's dog- in Ossian's Fin^l. w Long since. 

X Sagacious. «/ Leaped. z Trench, or sluice. 

a Fnguginj^. b Having a white stripe down the face. 

c Every. d Shaggy. e Lar?e. / Loins. g Curve. 

A Foiid of each other. i And very intimate. k Sometimes. 

I Scented. »« Sometimes. n Moles. o Dijired. 

p Merriment, foolishness. g A small hillock. r At all. 

s Fowls, &•«. paid as rent by a farmer. 

( Tribute, dues of any kind. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

He rises when he likes himsel ; 

His flunkies" answer at the bell : 

He ca's^ his coach, he ca's his horse j 

He draws a bonnie silken purse 

As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks,* 

The yeliow-letter'd Geordie keeks.J 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling. 
At baking-, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin',* 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk* fill their pechan* 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like thrastrie. 
That 's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our whipper-in, wee<= blastit^ wonner,* 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
.Better than onie tenant man 
His honour has in a' the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit^ their painch? in, 
I own it 's past my comprehension. 



Trowth, Cffisar, whyles they 're fasht** eneugh , 
A cotter howkiri' in a sheugh,^ 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin'' a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and sic like. 
Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie'" o' wee duddle weans," 
An' nought but his han' darg," to keep 
Them right and tight in thack an' rape.P 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think a wee touch langer, 
An' they mauni starve o' cauld and hunger. 

M Livery-Servants. w Calls. 

r satclies. V Peeps. z Cramming. o Hall-folk, servants. 

b Stomach. c Little. d Blasted. 

f A contemptuous appellation. /Put. g- Paunch. 

\ Troubled. i Diff-ing-. k Trench. / Building. 

7)1 A numerous collection of small individuals. 

n Raised children. o Day's work. 

p Clothing, necessaries. q Must. 



8 BURNS' POEMS. 

But how It comes I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ^ 
And buirdly chiels/ and clever hizzies,* 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

c;esar. 

But then to see how ye 're negleckit, 
How huff'd, and cufF'd, and disrespeckit ! 
L — d, man, our gentry care but Httle 
For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As 1 wad by a stinking brocks 

I've notic'd, on our laird's court-day, 
And monie a time my heart 's been wae. 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole" a factor's snash:* 
He '11 stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear. 
He '11 apprehend them, poind" their gear ; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble. 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches? 

LUATH. 

They 're nae sae wretched 's ane wad think ; 
Tho' constantly on poortith'sy brink : 
They 're sae accustom'd wi' the sight. 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided. 
They 're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' faligu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie'' weans'^ an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride. 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

r Stout-made young' men. 

$ HUMles, young- women. I A badger. u Suffer, endure* 

tc Abuse. X To seize for rent. y Poverty. 

X Of thriving growth. e Children. 



MISCELLANEOUS. V 

An' whyles twalpennie-worth o*nappie* 
Can make the bodies unco^ happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the kirk and state affairs ; 
They '11 talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts. 
Or tell what new taxation 's comin', 
An' ferlie^ at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns. 
They get the jovial, rantin' kirns,^ 
When rural life o' every station. 
Unite in common recreation : 
Love blinks, wit slaps, and social mirth. 
Forgets there 's care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappie reeks wi' mantling ream,S 
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin''* pipe, and sneeshin' mill,* 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie*' auld folks cracking crouse,* 
The young anes ranting thro' the house— 
My heart has been sae fain"* to see them. 
That I for joy hae barkit" wi' them. 

Still it 's owre° true that ye hae said. 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There 's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont? folk. 
Are riven out baith root and branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed<i to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha, aiblins,'" thrang a-parliamentin'. 
For Britain's guid* his saul indentin'' — 

A Ale. e Very. d Wonder. e The harvest supper. 

fTo foam, or (roth. h Smoking. i Snuff-box. 

Cheerful. I Conversing merrily. m Glad, happy, 

n Shouted, hallooed. o Over p Respectable. 

q Avarice, selfishness. r Perhaps. s Goodi 

t Making a bargain, or selling his vote for seven years. 

B2 



10 BURNS' POEMS. 



Haith," lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith I doubt It: 
Say rather, gaun^' as Premiers lead him. 
An' saying aye or iin 's they bid him: 
At operas an' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading ; 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,*^ 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 
To make a tour, and tak a whirl. 
To learn bon ton, an' see the worl'. 

There at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rivesy his father's auld entails; 
Or by JMadrid he takes the rout, 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht^ wi' nowt;* 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles: 
Then bouses drumly'' German water. 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter. 
An' clear the consequential sorrows. 
Love-gifts of carnival signoras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 



Hcch*= man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate* 
They waste sae monie a braw^ estate ! 
Are we sae foughten*" an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last! 

O, would they stay aback frae courts. 
An' please themselves wi* countra^ sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better. 
The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter !•• 

u A petty oath. w Going. x Ma.tL foollgh. 

y Divides and squanders. 2 Fight. 

a Black cattle— in allusion to tht Spanish bull-fights. 

( Muddy. c Oh! strange. d \hc way. e L^ga, 

/Troutied. £■ Countrj-. A Cottaaer. 



MISCELLANEOUS. U 

For thae' frank, rantin', ramblin' billies,* 
Fient haet' o' them 's ill-hearted fellows : 
Ejccept for breakin' o' their timmer,™ 
Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer," 
Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they 're ill to poor folk. 
But will you tell me, master Caesar, 
Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pleasure] 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
The very thought o't need na fear them. 



L — d, man, were ye but whyles** whare I am. 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It 's true they need na starve or sweat. 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They 've nae sair wark to craze their banes. 
An' fill auldage wi' gripes an' granes: 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They make enow themsels to vex themj 
An' ay the less they hae to sturtP them. 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 
A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acre's till'd, he 's right eneugh ; 
A country-girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzen 'si done, she 's unco weel :' 
But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst* 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet* ails them, yet uneasy; 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless: 
An' e'en their sports, their balls, an' races. 
Their galloping thro' public places ; 

i These h Yoim^ men. I A petty oatli of neaptipp, 

at Timber. n A strumpet, or kept mistress. o Sometiipe*. 
p To trouble or molest. g A doxen. r \ery happy. 

* The deuce of any th 



12 BURNS' POEMS. 

There *s sic* parade, sic pomp an' an, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in parly matches. 
Then souther" a' in deep debauches ; 
Ae" night they 're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, 
Niest" day their life is past enduring. 
The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They 're a' run deilsV an' jades thegither. 
Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie,* 
They sip the scandal potion pretty : 
Or lee-lang* nights, wi' crabbit leuks 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks -^ 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stack-yard. 
An' clieat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman j 
But this is gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming"^ brought the night; 
The bum-clock^ humm'd wi' lazy drone j 
The kye^ stood routin' i' the loan -J 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs,5 
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs; 
An' each took afF his several way, 
llesolv'd to meet some ither day. 

TAM 0' SHANTER. 



Of BroAirayis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. 

Gawin Douglcu, 

When chapman billies'^ leave the street, 
^nd drouthy neebors neebors meet, 

t Such. u Solder, cement. w One. x Next 

« Right-down devils. z Cup and saucen. a Live-lonjf. 

b Playing cards. c Twilight. 

d A humming beetle that flies in the summer evening*. 

cCows. /Lowing in the place of milking. gEaxtt 

h Hawkers, or pedlars. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 13 

As market-days are wearing latc> 

An' folk begin to tak the gate ;* 

While we sit bousing at the nappy. 

An' getting fou and unco happy. 

We think na on the lang Scots miles, 

The mosses, waters, slaps,'' and styles, 

That lie between us and our hame, 

Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, 

Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm, 

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand' honest Turn o' Shunter, 
As he, frae Ayr, ae"^ night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, \\ham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). 

O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum," 
A bleth'ring, blust'ring, drunken blellum f 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober, 
That ilkaP melder,i wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller : 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou"" on . 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She propiiesy'd, that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon j 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks* in the mirk,* 
By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet," 
To think how monie counsels sweet. 
How monie lengthen'd sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

» To tro their way. k Gates. I Found. m One. 

n A worthless fellow. o A nonsensical, idle-talking fellow 

p Every. 

q A grrist, or small quantity of corn taken to the mill to b« 

ground. r DrunK. s \Mzards. 

t Dark. « Makes me weep. 



14 BURNS' POEMS. 

But to our tale : Ae* market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right, 
Fast by an ingle," bleezing finely, 
\Vi' reaming svvats.y that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow souter^ Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
Tlie landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious ; 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
The storm without might rair'^ and rustle. 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy ; 
As bees flee ham.e wi' lades'* o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd tiieir way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place j 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm — 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
Tlie hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 
1 hat hour o' night's black arch the key-stane. 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he takes the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

w One. X Fire-place. y Frothing aick 

3 A shoemaker, a Roar. Loads. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 15 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd : 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : 
That night a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg 
(A better never lifted leg). 
Tarn skelpif^ on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whyles*^ holding fast his guid blue bonnet 
Whyles crooning'^ o'er some auld Scots sonnet j 
Whyles glow'ring^ round wi' prudent cares. 
Lest bogles° catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-AUoway was drawing nigh, 
Where ghaists and houlets'^ nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
VVhare in the snaw the chapman' smoor'd ;'' 
And past the birks' and meikle stane,*" 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck bane ; 
And thro' the whins," and by the cairn," 
Whare hunters fandP the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon^ the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-AUoway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka"" bore* the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn .' 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 

c Giilloped. rf Sometimes. e Humming ft tune. 

/' Lookiiiir. e Spirits, hobgoblins. A Owls. 

i A travel] ing pedlar. A VV as smotliered. Z Birch trees. 

ni A larffe stone. n Furze. o A hear of stone*. 

p Found. q Above. r Every. * A Iiole in the wall. 



16 BURNS' POEMS 

Wi' tippenny,* we fear nac evil ; 

Wi' usquabae," we'll face the Devi! !— 

The swats sae ream'd"^ in Tammie's noddlei 

Fair play, he car'd na Deils a bodle.^ 

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd. 

She ventur'd forward on the light ; 

And, vow ! Tarn saw an uncoy sight; 

Warlocks^ and witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillion brent new* frae France, 

But hornpiper>, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker'' in the east. 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 

A towzie tyke,'' black, grim, and large, 

To gis them music was his charge ; 

He screw'd the pipes and gart^' them skirl. 

Till roof an' rafters a' did dirl/ — 

Coffins stood round like open presses. 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 

And by some devilish cantripS slight. 

Each in its cauld hand held a light,-^ 

By which, heroic Tam was able 

To note upon the haly'' table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet alrns ;* 

Twa span-lang, wee,'' unchristen'd bairns ; 

A thief, new cutted fra a rape,' 

Wi' his last gasp his gab"" did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted j 

Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife a father's throat had mangled. 

Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 

t Ale. u Whisky. 

w The ale so foamed. x A small copper coin. 

y Straiisre, frightful. z Wizards. a Unite new. 

h Window-seat. c A sha^^y dog. d Made, forced 

e Va make a shrill noise. ^Tremble. £• A charm or spell. 
h Holy. j irons. k Little. I Ro^e. m Mouth. 



MISCELLANEOUS. JJ 

Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
Wi' lies seana'd like a beggar's clout, 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck. 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk : 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name w^ad be unlawfu : 

As Tammie glow'r'd," amaz'd, and curious. 
The mirth and fan grew fast and furious ; 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker Hew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,* 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit.P 
And coost her duddiesi to the wark, 
And linkef at it in her sark.^ 

Now Tam, O Tarn ! had they been queans 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,* 
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen ;" 
Thir^'' breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them afF my hurdles,* 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !/ 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags^ wad spean* a foal, 
Lowping** an' flinging on a crummock,<= 
I wonder did na turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie,* 
There was ae winsome^ wench and walie,*^ 
That night inlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'do on Carrick shore! 
For monle a beast to dead she shot. 
And perish'd monie a bonnie boat, 

n Stared. o Caurfit. 

p Till every old woman was in a reeking sweat. 
7 Last off her rug-s. r Tripped. s Shirt. 

t Greasy flannel. u Linen of the finest quality. wTheseh 

X The loins, &c. y Plural of burd— a damsel, 

i Gallows hags. a To wean. I> Leaping. 

c A cow with crooked horns. d Full well, 

c One hearty. /Jolly. g- Seen or knorvn. 



18 BURNS' POEMS. 

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,^ 

And kept the country-side in fear). 

Her cutty-sark' o' Paisley harn,'' 

That while a lassie she had worn. 

In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 

It was her best, and she was vauntie.* 

Ah ! little kenn'd™ thy reverend grannie. 

That sark she coft" for her wee Nannie, 

Wi' twa pund Scots" ('twas a' her riches). 

Wad ever grac'd a dance o' witches ! 

But here my INIuse her wing maun cow'r; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lapP and flang 
(A souple jad she was and Strang), 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd. 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Ev'n Satan glowr'd,q and fidg'd fu' fain,' 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main ; 
Till first ae caper, syne* anither, 
Tam tint' his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, Weel, done, Cutty-sark !^ 
And in an instant a' was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,"' 
When plundering herds assail their bykc j* 
As open pussie'sy mortal foes. 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When Catch the thief! resounds aloud ; 
So jNIaggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch'^ skreech and hollow, 

h Much corn and barley. i Short shirt. k Paisley lineiu 

I Proud of it. m Thouglit, oi knew. n Bought. 

o Two pounds Scotch— 3*. 4d, sterling. 
p Leaped. q Looked on with rapture, 

r Manifested a fidgetty kind of joy or pleasure. 
« Then. / Lost. u Short shirt. 

w In a great fuss, x A bee-hive. y A hare. 

2 Frightful, ghastly. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 19 

Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin' !• 

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin' I 

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ! 

Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 

Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 

And win the key-stane"^ of the brig : 

There at them thou thy tail may toss, 

A running stream they dare na cross. 

But ere the key-stane she could make, 

The fient a tail she had to shake j 

For Nannie, far before the rest. 

Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 

And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle f 

But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought afF her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claught'' her by' the rump. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
llk^ man and mother's son take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.*" 

a Get the reward of thy temerity. 
6 It IS a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, hav» 
no power to follow a poor wig^ht any farther than the middle ot 
the next runniii"- stream.— It may be proper likewise to mention 
to tlie beniifhied traveller, that when he falls in with bogies, 
whatever danger may be in his goin^ forward, there is much 
more hazard in turning- back. 

c Attempt. d Laid hold of. e Every. 

a-'Y^f'i^'- Lochwinnoch, on the9thinst. fAiis^ust, 1823) Thomas 
Keid, labourer. He was born on the 21st of October, 1745, in the 
clachan of Kyle, Ayrshire. The importance attached to this cir- 
cumstance arises fro.ii his being- the celebrated equestrian hero 
oi Burns' Poem ' Tam O'Shanter.' He has at length surmounted 
the mosses, rivers, slaps, and styles' of life. For a considerable 
time by-past he has been in the service of Major Hervey, of Cas- 
tle-Semple, nine months of which he has been incapable of la- 
bour ; and to the honour of Mr. Hervey be it named, he has, with 
a fostering and laudable generosity, soothed, as far as it was in 
nis power, the many ills of age and disease. He, however, still 
retained the desire of being ' fou' for weeks thegither.' Glasgow 
Vhronicle.—Xnother versioa of this story is the following: That 



20 BURNS' POEMS. 



DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 



A TRUE STORY. 

[The following' circumstance ocr.asioned the composition of 
this poem :— ' The schoolmaster of I'arbolton parish, to eke up 
the scanty subsistence allowed to that useful class of men, had set 
up a shop of sfrocery goods. Havini? accidentally fallen in with 
some medicaf books, and become most hobby-horsically attached 
to the study of medicine, he had added the sale of a few medi- 
cines to his little trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, at the 
bottom of wliich, overlooking his own incapacity, he liad adver- 
tised, that, ' Advice would be given in common disorders at the 
shop gratis.' — LockharCs Life of Burns.] 

Some books are lies frae end to end. 
And some great lies were never penn'd 
Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd. 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid,° at times, to vend. 

And nail 't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as true 's the deil's in hell. 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

's a muckle pity. 

The clachan yill'* had made me canty,* 
I was na fou,'' but just had plenty ; 

Tarn O'Shanter was no imaginary character. Shanter Is a farm 
near the village of Kirkoswald, where Burns, when nineteen 
years old, studied mensuration, and ' first became acquainted 
>vith scenes of swaggering riot.' The then occupier of Shanter, 
by name ' Douglas Grahame,' was, by all accounts, equally what 
the Tarn of the poet appears— a jolly, careless rustic, who took 
much more interest in the contraband traffic of the coast, then 
carried on, tlian in the rotation of crops. Burns knew the man 
well ; and to liis dying day, he, nothing loath, passed among his 
rural compeers by the name of ' Tam O'Shanter.' — Lockhari's 
Life of Jlur7is. 

This admirable tale was written for Grose's ' Antiquities of 
Scotland,' where it firs*, appeared, with a beautiful engraving of 
• AUoway's auld haunted Kirk.' 

f A lie. AViiAgeale. » Merry. % Drunk. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 31 

I stacher'd' whyles, but yet took tent" ay 

To free the ditches , 
An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists" and witches. 

The rising moon began to glow'r® 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre ; 
To count her horns wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin'P down on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff wi* a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker ;i 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker.*" 

I there wi' soinething did forgather* 
That put me in an eerie swither ;^ 
An awfu' scythe out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear, dangling hang j 
A three-taed leister" on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells tvva, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
Tor fient a wame^^ it had ava l^ 

And then, its shanks. 
They were as thin, as sharp, an' sma' 

As cheeks d' branks !y 

• Guid-e'en,' quo' I ; ' Friend ! hae ye been raawin 
When ither folk are busy sawin' ?^ 

. / Sta^ffered. m Took heed. jt From ghosti. 

o To shine faintly. /^ Tottering. o Steady. 

r A short run. i Meet. I Frightful hesitation. 

u A three-pronffed dart. w Belly. x At all. 

y A kiM of wooden curb for horses. 

t This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. 



22 BURNS' POEMS. 

It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan'. 

But naething spak , 
At length, says I, ' Friend, whare ye gaun. 

Will ye go back V 

It spak right howe* — ' My name is death. 
But bo na fley'd.'*'— Quoth I, * Guid faith .' 
' Ye 're maybe come to stap my breath j 

But tent me, billie f 
I red"* ye weel, tak care o' scaith,^ 

See there 's a gully V^ 

* Gudeman,' quo' he, ' put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its metal ; 

But if I did, I wad be kitlleS 

To be mislear'd ;^ 
I wad na miud it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard.' 

* Weel, weel !' says I, * a bargain be 't ; 
Come, gie 's your hand, an' sae we 're gree't ;* 
We '11 ease our shanks an' tak a seat. 

Come, gie 's your news ; 
This while'^ ye hae been monie a gate,' 
At monie a house.' 

* Ay, ay 1' quo' he, an' shook his head, 
' It 's e'en a lang, lang time indeed, 
Sin' I began to nick the thread. 

An' choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread. 
An' sae maun Death. 

' Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
Sin' I was to the hutching"^ bred, 

a Witli a hollow tone of voice. b Frightened. 

c Heed rae, good fellow. d To counsel, or advise. 

p Injury. / A lar^e knife. ^ Ticklish, difficult. 

h IMiscluevous ; i.e. It would be no easy matter for you to Uust, 

or do me any mischief. » Agreed. 

k An epidemical fever was then raging in that part of the 
'country. I Many a road. »» Butchering. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 23 

An monie a scheme in vain's been laid, 
To stap or scaur™ me ; 

Till ane Hornbook 's° taen up the trade, 
An' faith, he '11 waur<' me. 

* Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan, p 
Deil mak his king's-hood^ in a spleuchan !' 
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan* 

An' ither chaps. 
The weans* haud out their fingers laughln*, 
An' pouk my hips. 

* See here's a scythe, and there's a dart. 
They hae pierc'd monie a gallant heart ; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill. 
Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

Damn'd haet" they '11 kill ! 

* 'Twas but yestreen,^ nae farther gane, 
I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less I 'm sure I 've hundreds slain ; 

But Deil-ma-care,'^ 
It just play'd dirly on the bane. 

But did nae mair. 

* Hornbook was by, wi' ready art. 
And had sae fortify'd the part. 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet* o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 
Of a kail-runt.a 

m Stop or scare. 
n Tliis g-entleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brot'ner 
of the sovereig^n Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and 
inspiration, is at once an apotliecary, surg-eon, and physician. 
o Worst, or defeat. p Hamlet, or village. 

5 A part of tlie entrails. r A tobacco pouch. 

* Buchan's Domestic Medicine. t Children, 

u An oath of negation ; i. e. in Dr. Hornbook's opinion he ha» 
rendered my weapons harmless— they'll kill nobody. 
tv Yesternight. x No matter ! 

y A slight tremulons stroke. 2 An oath of negation. 

o The stem of Colewort. 



24 BURNS' POEMS. 

* I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 

I near hand cowpit'' wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
[ might as well hae tried a quarry 

O' l:ard whin*= rock. 

' Ev'n them he canna get attended,** 
Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'tl it. 
Just in a kail-blade and send it. 

As soon 's he smells 't, 
liaith their disease, and what will mend it, 

At once he tells 't. 

• And then a' doctor's saws an' whittles," 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He 's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 
As AB C 

' Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; 
True sal-marinum o' the seas; 
The farina of beans and pease, 

He has 't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

He can content ye. 

' Forbye*^ some new uncommon weapons, 
Urinus spiritus of capons : ' 

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distill'd per se ; 
Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings. 

And monie mae.'? 



h Tumbled. 

c The hard stone found in the Scottish hills— graniie. 

d Those patients who cannot attend upon the doctor, or cannd 

t>e seen by him, must send their water in a phial, from Ihe sight 

t/f which he pretends to Itnow and cure their various diseases. 

e Knives. f Besides. g More. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 25 

* Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole'* now. 
Quo' I, * if that the news be true ' 

His braw calf-ward," whare gowans^ grew 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they '11 rive it wi' the pleugh ; 

They '11 ruin Johnny !' 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,* 
And says, ' Ye need na yoke the pleugh. 
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh. 

Tak ye nae fear : 
They '11 a' be trench'd wi' monie a sheugh," 

In twa-three year. 

' Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death,^ 
By loss o' blood or want o'breath, 
This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith,<' 

By drap an' pill. 

* An honest wabster? to his trade, 

Whase wife's twa nievesi were scarce weel b'^ed, 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head. 

When it was sair ; 
The wife slade cannie^' to her bed, 

But ne'er spak mair. 

' A countra laird had taen the batts,* 
Or some curmurring' in his guts. 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets," 

Was laird himsel. 



h A name 8:iven to the grave-dig'g't'r. 
i An enclosure for calves ; the term -is here used in allusion to 
the church-yard. k Daisies. I Groaned a friijlitfiil laugh. 

m Ditch, or trench ; i. e. will be filled with arraves. 

n To die in bed, in a natural way. o Shroud. ^ p A weaver. 

Fbts. r Slide gently, or dexterously s Botts. 

( Murmuring, a slight rumbling noise. n Ewe lambs. 

c 



20 BURNS' POEMS, 

A bonnie Ices, ye kenn'd her name, 
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wamd^^ 
She trusts hersei, to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care ; 
Horn sent her afF to her lang hame. 

To hide it there, 

' That's just a swatch'' o' Hornbook's way ; 
Thus goes he on from day to day. 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay. 

An 's vveel paid for 't ; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his d-ran'd dirt -J 

* But, hark ! I '11 tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o 't ; 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot, 

As dead 's a herrin' ; 
Niest^ time we meet, 1 '11 wad a groat, 

He gets his fairin' !' 

But just as he began to tell. 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal* 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel. 

And sae did Death.^ 



w Swelled her belly. tA sample. 

y By sending his jjatients to the cliurch-yard. 

2 Next. a The hour of one. 

ft So irresistible was the tide of ridicule, on the publicalioii of 

this poem, that John Wilson, alias Dr. Hornbook, was not only 

compelled to shut up shop as an apothecary, or drugijist rather. 

but to abandon his school alsc, as liis pui<iIsoD<s by one descrtitM 

Uai. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 27 

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor.— Gray. 



My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride 1 scorn each selfish end, _ 

JMy dearest m.eed, a friend's esteem and praise ,; 
To you I sing- in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; 

\\ hat Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, 1 
ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh f 

The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end. 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary? o'er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 

A., length his lonely cot appears in view, 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 

Th' expectant wee-things,<i todlin,^ stacher' thro' 
To meet their dad wi' flichterinS noise and glee. 

e Th<- continued rushing noise of a stronf? wind. 
d Little children. e Tottering. / Stagger. 
g Fluttering. 



28 BURNS' POEMS. 

His wee bit ingle*^ blinkin' bonnilie, 

His clean hearth-stane, hlsthriftiewifie's smile. 

The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 
Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. 

Belyve' the elder bairns come drappin' in. 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie'' rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town ; 
Their eldest hope, their Jeany, woman grown. 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew abrawnewgown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers :' 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos™ that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their iiopeful years j 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 

Gars" auld claes look amaist" as weel's the new y 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their masters' and their mistresses' command. 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydenU' hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauki or play j 
An' O I be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night' 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang"" astray. 

Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright ! 

h Small fire-place. i By and bye. A Carefully. 

I To inquire. m Strange sights, tales, or stories, n Makct. 

Almost. p Diligent. q Dully, or trilie. r Go. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 29 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door , 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafflins* is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild worth- 
less rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben j* 

A strappan youth ; he taks the mother's eve ; 
Ely the J enny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en ; ' 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye ; 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 
But blate" and laithfu',^ scarce can weel 
behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae 
grave ; [the lave.y 

Weel pleas'd to think her bairn" 's respected like 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
If Heaven a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare. 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Boneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning 
gale. 

Is there in human form that bears a heart — 
• A wretch I a villain ! lost to love and truth ' 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth 1 

i Partly. t Into tlie country parlour. u Dasliful. 

10 Sheepish. x Child. y Yhe rest, the others. 



30 BURNS' POEMS. 

Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth l 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd 1 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,* 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction 
wild! 

But now the supper crowns thei' simple board I 

The halesome parritch,^ chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soup their only hawkie'- does afford, 

That 'yonf^the hallan*^ snugly chows her cud : 
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck«= 
An' aft he's press'd, an' aft he ca's it good ; [fell,' 

The frugal wifie, garrulous will tell, 
IIow 'twas a towmond auld,ff sin' lint was i' the 
bell.'» 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle,* form a circle wide ; 
T^e sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

f he big Ha'-Bible,'' ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart' haftets™ wearin' thin and bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide^ 

He wales" a portion with judicious care ; 
And * Let us ivonhip God /' he says with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy o' the name : 



2 Sorrow. a Wholesome porridge. b Cow. 

c Beyond. 

d X partition-wall in a cottage, or a seat of turf at the outside. 

e Weil saved or weli-kept cheese. 
/ Well savoured, of good relish. g A twelvemonth old. 

h Since flax wiis in the flower. i Fire-piace. 

k The \a.rge hall-15il)ie. i Grey, or of a mixed colouK 

in Temples— side of the head. n Chooses, selects. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 31 

Or noble Elgin" beets? the heav'nward flame, 
The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays : 

Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abraham was the friend of God on high , 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek i ungracious progeny ; 
Or, how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire j 
Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry j 

Or, rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic firti ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volulne is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in heav'n the second name. 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head; 
How His first followers and servants sped • 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a .and : 
How hf, who lone in Patmos banished. 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by 
Heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal King, 

The saint, the fath<'r, and the htishand prays: 
Hope * springs exulting on triumphant wing,'i 

That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 
There, ever bask in uncreated rays. 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise. 

In such society, yet still more dear, [sphere. 
While circling time moves round in an eternal 

o Dundee — Martyrs— Ei^in—] Names of sacred melodies uied 
in ilngina^ psalms. p Adds fuel to, or increases defodon. 
q Pope's Windsor Forest. 



32 BURNS' POEMS. 

Compai'd with this, how poor religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide. 
Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole j 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the 
soul ; 
And in his hook of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request. 
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best. 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 
springs. 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad . 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

* An honest man 's the noblest work of God :' 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road. 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind :, 
What is a lordling's pomp 1 a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human-kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd I 

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, [tent! 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con- 

r Pope'8 Essay on IMan. 



misi;ellanp:ous. §3 

And, O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
From luxury's contagion weak and vile ! 

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtiums populace may rise the while. 

And stand a vi'all of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

Thatstream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart- 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, ' 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part^ 
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art. 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward ') 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert : 

But still the patriot and the patriot bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! 

.jJ'jf 'Cotter's Saturday Nig-htis, perhaps, of all Biirns's nieres 
the one whose exclusion from the collet on, were such tWnli 
possible now-a-days, would be the most iniuriouT if not tX 
genius at least to the character, of the m^/ I^^olb'er fliUt't^ 
th^^ul has made but in these he remained but a on wWll o**,? 
tiie wing:, and effort is too often perceptible • here tli^ mV !.,, ■ 
L^y^.f "'i^' P'^'^'dly undulating/ There i more of t IcoSul 



S4 BURNS' POEMS. 

[The following Poem will, by many readers, be well enough uiv 
derstood; but for the sake ot those who are unacquainted with 
the manners and traditions of the country where the scene ia 
cast, Notes are added, t-o give some account of the principal 
charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the 
peasantry in tlie west of Scotland. The passion of prying into 
futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature 
in its rude state in all ages and nations; and it may be some 
entertainment to a pliilosophic miiul, if any such should honour 
the Author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among th» 
more unenlightened in our own.] 

HALLO WEEN. s 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 

The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 

To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 

One native charm, than all the gloss of art.— Goldstnith, 

tJpoN that night, when fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans^ dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the rout is taen, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There up the Cove," to stray an' rove 

Amang the rocks an' streams. 

To sport that night. 

Amang the bonnie winding banks. 

Where Doon rins, wimplin',"' clear, 
Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks 

And shook the Carrick^ spear. 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To hum their nits,y an' pou'^ their stocks. 

An' haud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 

* Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other ml»- 
chief-makiiig beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight 
errands ; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on 
tliat night to hold a grand anniversary. 

t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbour- 
hood of the ancient seat of the earls of Cassilis. 

u A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; 
which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for 
bein^ a favourite haunt of fairies. w Meandering. 

X The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, tht 
f real deliverer of his country, were earls of Carrick. 
V Nuts. z Pull, or pluck. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 35 

The lasses feat,^ an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they 're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,** 

Hearts leal,<= an' warm, an' kin' :<* 
The lads sae trig,^, wi' wooer-babs/ 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate,? and some wi' gabs,** 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 

Whyles fast that night. 

Then first and foremost, thro' the kail. 

Their stocks^ maun a' be sought ance; 
They sleek their een,'' an' graip, an' wale. 

For muckle anes an' straught anes.™ 
Poor hav'rel" Will fell afFthe drift. 

An' wander'd thro' the how-kail,° 
An* pou't.P for want o' better shift, 

A rnnti was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't"" that night. 

Then straught or crooked, yird^ or nane, 

They rear an' cry a' throu'ther;* 
The vera wee-things," todlin', rin* 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther j 

a Nice, trim. • Discover, or sliew themselves. 

e Loyal, true, faithful. d Kiiul. e Spruce, neat. 

/The garter knotted below the knee with a couple of loops. 

g- Very bashful. h To talk boldly. 

i The first ceiemony of Halloween is, pullinj each a stock, or 
plant of kail. They must g'o out, hand in hand, with eyes sliut, 
and pull the first they meet with. Its being- big- or little, straight 
or crooked, is proiihetic of the size and shape of t!ie grand object 
of all tlieir spells— the husband or wife. Kznv yird, or earth, 
stick to the root, that is locker, or fortune ; ami the taste of the 
cuslock, that is, the heart of tlie stem, is indicative of the natural 
temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their 
ordinan appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the 
head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom 
chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of 
placing the rimts, the names in question. 

A Shut their eves. ( Grope and choose, or pick. 

m tor large and straight ones. 
tt A half-witted talkative person. o Cabbages. p Pulled* 
g Stem of cabbage, or colewort. r Crooked. 

« With earth, or dirt. t Pell-mell, confusedly. 

« Young children. w Tottering run. 



36 BURNS* POEMS. 

An' gif* the custock'sy sweet or sour, 

"Wi' jocktelegs^ they taste them ; 
Syne coziely,* aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they 've placed them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw^ frae 'mang them a' 

To pou their staiks o' corn ;^ 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks'^ about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirl'd^ a' the lasses ; 
But her tnp-pickle^ maist was lost. 

When kiuttlin'? i' the fause-house^ 
Wl' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's' vveel hoordet'' niti^ 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided ; 
Some kindle, couthie,™ side by side. 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride, 

And jum.p out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

* If. y The stalk of the kail, or colewort. 

2 A kind of knife. a Suujly. 6 Stole away. 

c They go to tlie barn-yard and pull each, at three several 

times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, 

that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question 

will come to the marriage-bed any thing but a maid. 

d To turn a corner. e Shrieked. 

/Supposed to have allusion to something of which ladies are 

«aid to be very careful. p Cuddling. 

h When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or 
wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c. makes a large 
apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is 
fairest exposed to the wind ; this he calls a fause-house. 
I Mistress of the house. k Hoarded. 

I Cuming the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and 
lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and ac- 
cordingly as they burn quietly to.^ether, or start from beside one 
mother, the course and issue of the courtship will be. 
m Loviu£^ly. 



MISCELLANEOUS. g 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ;" 

Wha 'twas she wadna** tell j 
But this is Jock, an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel ; 
He bleez d owre her an' she owre him. 

As they wad ne'er mair part ! 
Till fuff !P he started up the lum,l 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see 't that night. 

Poor Willie wi' his bow-hail-runt,' 

Was briait* wi' primsie* Mallie ; 
An' Mallie, nae doubt took the drunt,* 

To be compar'd to Willie ; 
Mall's nit lapw out wi' pridefu' fling. 

An' her ain fit'' it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap an' swoor hyjing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-houseY in her min' 

She pits'- hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join. 

Till white in ase^^ they 're sobbin' ; 
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view. 

She whisper'd Rob to look for 't ; 
Rob, stowlins,'' pried^ her bonnie mou,* 

Fu' cozie* in the neuk*" for 't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs. 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin's at their cracks. 

And slips out by hersel' : 

, w",^'^^ watchful eye. „ Would not. 

p With a puff, or bounce. g The chimney. 

r Cabbage-stalk. s Burnt. i Demure. 

« Fet, crabbed humour. w Leaped. * Foot. 

I |alse-house ; see a foregoing note. z Puts. a Asbet. 

• By stealth. « fasted, or kissed. d Mouth, oriibf. 

« Snugly. /-Nook. £• Taltoiff.' *^ 



38 BURNS' POEMS. 

She thro' the yard the nearest taks 

An' to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins grapit'* for the banks,* 

And in the blue-clue^ throws then, 

Right fear't' that nighU 

An' ay she win't,"" an ay she swat,° 

I wat she made nae jaukin' j" 
Till something held within the pat,P 

Guid L — d ! but she Avas quakin* ! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel', 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en',1 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin' 

To spier*" that night. 

Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 

' Will ye go wi' me, grannie 1 
I '11 eat the applt^ at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnnie :' 
She fufF't' her pipe wi' sic a lunt," 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin'. 
She notic'd na^* an aizle'' brunt 

Her braw new worsety apron 

Out thro' that night. 

' Ye little skelpie limmer's'^ face ! 
How daur you try sic sportin', 

h Groped in the dark. i Cross-beam*. 

k Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly ol^ 
serve these directions : Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and dark- 
ling, throw into the pot a clue of blue-yarn ; wind it in a new 
clue off the old one ; and, towards the latterend, something will 
hold the thread ; demand, W-'Aa hands ? i. e. VVho holds ? An 
answer will be returned from the kiln pot, by naming the christian 
and surname of your future spouse. I Frig-hted. 

Wi Wound, did wind. n Did sweat. c Dallying-, trifling, 

p Pot. q The end of a beam. r To inquire. 

* Take a candle, and g-o alone to a lookioar-crlass ; eat an appl« 
before it, and some traditions say, you should' comb your hair al 
the time ; the face of your conjusf.il companion to be will be seen 
In the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder. 

/ Puffed out the smoke. n A column of smoke. 

w Not. X A hot cinder. y Worsted, 

s A technical term in female scolding. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 80 

As seek the foul Thief ony place. 

For him to spae* your fortune ? 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten a fright. 

An' liv'd an' died deleeret'* 

On sic a night. 

* Ae hairst afore*^ the Sherra-moor,^ 

I mind 't as weel 's yestreen,® 
I was a gilpey'' then, I 'm sure 

I was na past fyfteen : 
The simmer had been cauld an' wat. 

An' stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a rantin' kirno we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

* Our stibble-rig'* was Rab M'Graen, 

A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
He 's sin' gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That Jiv'd in Achmacalla ; 
lie gat hemp-seed,^ I mind it weel. 

An' he made unco light o 't ; 
But monie a day was by himsel} 

He was sae sairly frightet 

That very night.* 

a To divine, or prophesy. b Delirious. 

c One harvest before. 

d The battle of Sheriff Moor, in the year 1715. 

e 1 remember it as well as if it had been out yesterday. 

/A half-grown girl. g Harvest-supper. 

h The reaper in harvest who takes the lead. i Son. 

k steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed; 

harrowing' it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. 

Repeat now and then, ' Henipseed, I saw thee ; hempseed I saw 

thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my true-love, come after me 

and pou thee.' Look over your left shoulder, and you will see 

the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling 

hemp. Some trjditions say, ' Come after me, and shaw thee ;' 

that is, shew thyself: in which case, it simply appears. Othem 

omit ths harrowing, and say. ' Come after me, and harrow thee.* 

I Out ofhisseases. 



40 BURNS' POEMS. 

Then up gat fechtin™ Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience. 
That he could sajt" hemp-seed a peck; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught" down the pock,* 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Synei bade him slip fiae 'mang the folk. 

Some time when nae ane see'd him. 
An' try 't that night. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tbo' he was something sturtinj*" 
The graip^ he for a hurrow taks. 

An' haurls at lils curpin •} 
An' ev'ry now an' tlien, he says, 

' Hemp-seed I saw theCj 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, and draw thee 

As fast this night.' 

He whistl'd up Lord Lennox march, 

To keep his courage clieery ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He wassae fieyVl" aa' eerie ;" 
Till presently he hears a Sviueak, 

An' then a grane* an' gruntle ;y 
He by his shouther gae a keek,^ 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle* 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld cam rinnin' out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 

m Fi^htin^. n Sow. o Rt-ailicd. 

p Bag, or sack. q Then. r Frighted. 

( A three-pronged dung--fork. t Crupper, 

s Scared, frighted. w Afraid of sptritii. j- Uroan. 

Vnmting noise. ? To peep. a A stagger 



MISCELLANEOUS. 41 

He swoor 'twas hilchin'* Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie^ Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but grumphie^ 

Asteere that night ! 

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen 

To w'm^ three v^echts? o' naething'^ 
But for to meet the Deil her lane,* 

She pat but little faith in :_ 
She gies the herd a pickle'' nits,* 

An' twa red cheekit apples. 
To watch, while for the barn she sets," 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That vera night. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

And owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca'. 

Syne" bauldly in she enters ; 
A ration'^ rattl'd up the wa'. 

An' she cry'd, L — d preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' midden-holeP an a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy'ti out Will, wi' sair advice : 
They hechf him some fine braw ane f 

b Halting. c Crooked-backed. d A sow. 

e Abroad. / To winnow as corn. 

g An instrument for winnowing corn. 

A This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and 

alone. You go to the lam, and open both doors, taking them off 

the hinges if possible ; for there is danger that the being, abcmi to 

appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then 

take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, 1,. our 

country dialect, we call ^.wecht; and go through all the attitudes 

of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times ; 

and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at 

the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in 

question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment 

or station in life. » Herself alone. 

A Afew. I Nuts. «i Sets ofT. 

n Then. o A rat. p A dun^-hole. q Lrged. 

r Promised to foretell something that is to be got or given. 

t A fine handsome sweeth eart. 



42 BURNS' POEMS. 

It chanc'd the stack hefaddom^d^ tkricej* 

Was timmer-propt for thrawin' :* 
He talcs a swirlle,'' auld moss oak, 

For some black, grousome carlin ;y 
An' loot a winze,^ an' drew a stroke. 
Till skin in blypes=^ came haurlin'** 

Aflf's nieves° that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was. 

As canty as a kittlen j"^ 
But, och ! that night, amang the shaws. 

She got a fearfu' settlin' ! 
She thro' the whins,^ an' by the cairn,' 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin',^ 
Whare three la'trda' lauds meet at a biirn,^ 

To dip her left sark'-sleeve in. 

Was bent that night. 

Whyles'' owre a linn' the burnie plays. 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ;™ 
Whyles round a rocky scaur it straysj 

Whyles in a wiel" it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 
Wi' bickerinsr, dancing: dazzle ; 



/ Fathomed. 
u Take an opportunity of goin?, unnoticed, to a bean-stack, and 
fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, 
you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future con- 
jugal yoke-fellow. 
w Twisting, or inclining to fall, therefore propt with timber. 
X Knotty. y Grim-looking, ugly old woman. 

2 Swore an oath. a Shreds. b Peeling, 

c Off his knuckles. d Frisky as a kitten, 

f Furze, or gorse. /A heap of stones. g Swiftly. 

h You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south- 
running spring or rivulet, where three lairds' lands meet, and dip 
your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang 
your vtiit sleeve before it to drv. Lie awake ; and some time 
near midnight, an apparition, liaving the exact figure of the 
grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to 
ory the other side of it. i Shirt, or ihift. 

k Sometimes. I A waterfall. m Waved, 

n Whirlpool. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 43 

Whyles cookit" underneath the braes,P 
Below the spreading hazel. 

Unseen that night. 

Amang the brachens,i on the brae 

Between her an' the moon. 
The Deil, or else an outler quey,' 

Gat up an' gae a croon :^ 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool j* 

Near lav'rock" height she jumpit. 
But mist a fit/^ an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,'' 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The liiggies three^ are rang'd. 
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en. 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar's-year'^ did desire, 
Because he gat the toomdish'^ thrice. 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,** 

I wat they did na weary ; 
An' unco<= tales, an' funny jokes. 

Their sports were cheap an* cheery. 

o Appeared and disappeared by fits. 

p Declivity or precipice. q Fern. 

r A younj cow running at larje, not housed. 

* To roar, or bellow. / Leaped out of her skin. 

u Lark. w Missed a foot. x Over head and ears. 

y Take three dishes : put clean water in one, foul water in 

another, leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead him 

to tlie hearth where the dishes are rang'ed : he (or she) dips the 

left hand : if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or 

wife will come to the bar of n)atrimony a maid : if in the foul a 

widow: if in the empty dish, it foretells with equal certainty, no 

marriage at all. It is repeated three times ; and every time the 

•rran^ement of the dishes is altered. 

2 The year 1715. a Empty dish. b To converse. 

c Strange, marvellous. 



44 BURNS' POEMS. 

'Till butter'd so'm^ wi' fragrant lunt,* 

Set a' their gabs^ a-steerin' ;S 
Sjme'' wi' a social glass o' strunt,* 

They parted afF careerin' 

Fu' blythe that night 

SCOTCH DRINK. 

Gie him strong drink until he wink, 

That 's sinking in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid. 

That 's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse an' deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts. 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxl. 6, 7. 

Let other poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us. 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us. 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch drinkf 
Whether thro' wimplin' worms thou jink. 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink. 

In glorious faem. 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn j 
An' Aits set ap their awnie horn. 
An' Pease an' Beans, at e'en or morn. 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, Jotm Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

d Sowens— oatmeal made into a kind of pudding. This H 
a. ways the Halloween supper. e Smoke of tobacco. 

/ Mouths. g Stirring. A Then. i SpirituouR liquor. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 45 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. 
In souple scones,'' the wale' 0' food ! 
Or tumblin' in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef ; 
But when thoii pours thy strong heart's blood, 

Ihere thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame,™ an' keeps us livin'j 

The life's a gift no worth receivin'. 

When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin' ;«» 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels 0' life gae down hill, scrievin',® 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doitedP Lear ;i 
Thou cheers the heart 0' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves 0' Labour sair. 

At 's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft clad in massy siller weed,' 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need. 

The poor man's wane/ 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens* fine. 

Thou art the life 0' public haunts ; 

But" thee, what were our fairs and rants 1 

A Flexible bread ; i. e. Bannocks made of barley meal, &c 
'vhich when baked are so flexible as to admit of being easily rolled 
io^etlier. I The choice. 

w The belly. n Grieving. Swiftly. 

fj StiiiMiied, fatigued with stiidv. </ Learning, knowledre. 

r .Si vtr dress ; alUidiiig- to the silver cups and tankards used at 
(hv. tiibli-sot tlie gentry. 

» Aie is here intended, a small portion of which is frequentl* 
mixed Willi the porridi,^' of the poorer sort of people. 
I Gives a relish to. « Without. 



4G BURNS' rOEMS. 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts. 

By thee inspir'd. 
When gaping they besiege the tents. 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams^ the horn in ! 
Or reeking on a New-year mornin' 

In cog or bicker,* 
An" just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,* 

An' gusty^ sucker !* 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith'', 
O rare ! to see thee fizz'^ an' freath*^ 

I' th' lugget caup !^ 
Then Burnewin*' comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup.5 

Nae mercy then for airn*^ or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie,* ploughman chiel. 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel. 

The strong fore- hammer j"* 
Till block an' studio' ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin' weanies™ see the light. 
Thou maks the gossips clatter" bright. 
How fumblin' cuifs° their dearies slight ; 

Wae worth the name ; 
Nae howdieP gets a social night. 

Or plack frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea. 
An' just as wudi as wud can be, 

w Foams. x A wooden cup or disli. 

y A small quantity of spirits burnt iu a spoon, and put into the 

ale. z Tasteful. a Su^r. 

b Tackle, ^ecr. c To make a hissing noise. d Froth. 

e A cup with a handle. / Burn-the-wind— the blacksmith. 

I' Stroke. A Iron. i Bony. A The smith's larg-e hammer. 

I Anvil. m Crying children. n Tell idle stories. 

Ninnies. p A midwife. g Mad. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 4T 

How easy can the barley hree' 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It 's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee. 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte* her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason* 

\Vi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season 

E'er spier" her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash !* 
Twins" monie a poor, doylty, drunken hash.' 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well. 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless* devils like mysel ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter dearthfu' wines to mell,** 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blether wrench. 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle*^ wi' a glunch** 

O' sour disdain, 
Out-owre a glass o' whisky punch 

Wi' honest men. 

O Whishy! soul o' plays an' pranks! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 

r Juice. s To blame. t Weasand. 

w Sudden illness. x Parts, <Iepnves. 

f A fellow who knows neither how to ac» 
propriety. a Pcnnyless. 

c The phiz. 



48 BURNS i'OEMS. 

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes ! — they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — s ! 
Thee, FerintoshJ^ O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast/ 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast? 

Is ta'en awa ! 
Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' excise, 
Wha mak the whisky siells their prize ! 
Hand up thy hand, Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers !•' 
An' bake them up in brunstane' pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 
Fortune ! if thou '11 but gie me still 
Hale breeks,'' a scone,' an' ivhiiky gill. 
An' rowth"* o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest. 
An' deal 't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 

THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND 
PRAYER" 

To the Scotch Representatives in the House of Commons, 

Dearest of distillation ! last and best 

How art thou lost ! 

Parody on Milton, 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 

e A very superior kind of whisky made in a district of tlie 
Higlilands called by that name. f Couching. 

g Lord Forbes of Ferintosh, in the county of Cromarty, for- 
merly held by charter a ri^ht for all his tenantry to distil whisky 
witliout paying' any duty to the kins. 

h A term of contempt. i Brimstone. k Whole brieches. 

I AcaKe; kind of bread. m Plenty. 

n This was written before the act anent the Scotch distilleries, 
cf Session 17S6; for wliich Scotland and the Author rtlura ti.eir 
most j'rateful tlianks. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

An' doucely manage our affairs 

In parliament. 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 
Alas ! my roupet<» Muse is hearse !p 
Your Honours' heart wi' grief twad pierce. 
To see her sitting on her a — e 

Low i' the dust. 
An' scriechin' out prosaic verse. 

An' like to brust ! 
Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction. 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquav'UiE ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction. 
An' move their pity. 
Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth. 
The honest, open, naked truth : 
Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth. 

His servants humble: 
The mucklei Devil blaw ye south. 

If ye dissemble ! 
Does onie great man glunch"" an' gloom ? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb !* 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soomJ 

Wi' them wha grant 'era 
If honestly they canna come. 

Far better want 'era. 
In gath'ring votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug," an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your cracK 
Before them a'. 

e Hoarse, as with a cold. p Hoarse. 9 Great. r\ 

I Don't be afraid— never trouble your head about it. 

t Swim. M Ear. 

D 



50 BURNS' POEMS. 

Paint Scotland greetin'^ owre her thrissle," 
Her mutchkin stoupy. as toom 's a whissle j" 
An' d-inn'd Excisemen in a bussle. 

Seizin' a stell,^ 
Triumphant crushin' 't like a mussel 

Or lampit*^ shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard Smuggler right behint her. 

An' cheek -for-chow a chuffie*^ Vintner, 

CoUeaguing join. 
Picking her pouch^ as bare as wmter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot. 
To see his poor auld mither's pot 

I'hus dung in staves," 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves 1 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire an' out o' sight ! 
But could I like Montgomeries fight, 

Or gab*^ like Boswell, 
There's some sark-neckso I wad draw tight. 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your honours, can ye see 't, 
The kind, auld, cantie carlin'^ greet,* 
An' no'' get warmly to your feet. 

An' gar' them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat. 

Ye winna'" bear it ! 

w Weeping. x Thistle— tlie national emblem. 

y Pint mug. z Empty. a A still, used for making whisky. 

b Lympet, a shell-fish. c Fat-faced. d Pocket. 

t Knocked to pieces. /To speak boldly. g Shirt-collarfc 

AOldladv. tWeep. A Not. i Make. »» Will noU 



MISCELIiANEOUS. gX 

Some 0* you nicely ken the laws. 
To round the period, an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To male harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangfc 
Dempster," a true-blue Scot I'se warran ; 
Thee, aith«-det.esting, chaste Kilkerran jP 
An' that glib-gabbetT Highland baron, 

The laird o' Graham f 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name.. 
Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick, an' llay; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or TuUy 

Might own for brithers. 
Thee, sodger Hugh,* my watchman stentcd. 
If bardies e'er are represented ; 
I ken if that your sword were wanted. 

Ye 'd lend your hand. 
But when there 's ought to say anent it. 

Ye 're at a stand. 
Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle. 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ;" 
Or, faith ! I'll wad^^ my new pleugh-pettle,* 

Ye'U see't or lang,y 
She'll teach you wl' a reekin' whittle,^ 

Anither sang. 

n Georije Dempster, Esq., of Dunniclien, Forfarshire. He 
was many years M. 1'. for tlfe Dundee district of boroughs, and 
always spoke and voted on the liberal side of politics. 

o An oath. p Sir Adam Ferguson. 

V That speaks smoothly and readily, r The Duke of Montrose 

s Sagacious, cunning. 

t Earl of Eglintoun, then Colonel Montgomery, and repre- 

sentative for Ayrshire. u Ker sUll. w To bet or vngtr 

s Flough-staff. y Ere long. z A bloody sword. 



62 BURNS POEMS. 

This while she 's been In crankous* mood. 
Her lost Militia^ fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !«) 
An' now she 's like to rin red-wud,** 

About her whisky. 

An' L— d ! if ance they pit her till 't,«» 
Her tartan petticoat she '11 kilt/ 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She '11 tak the streets. 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

1' the first she meets. 

For G-d's sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair. 
An' straik her cannieff wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle House^ repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear,' 

To get remead.'' 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him 't het,' my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie j™ 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sporting lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid" o' auld Boconnock's, 

I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks,** 

An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock'.s,^ 

a Fretful. 
6 Burlesque allusion to the bill for a Scotch militia, which was, 
shortly before that time, ne_^adved in Parliament. 

c A trick. d Runslark mad. e Put her to iU 

/To truss up the clothes. g Stroke her ffently. 

h T)ie parliament house. t Learning-. k Remedy. 

« Hot. ni Frighten the fellow, make him knock under. 

n Good blood. 

Two bannocks or cakes made of mixed corn. 

p A worthy old hostess of the Author's in Mauchline, whcr*" he 

metimes studied politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch dnak. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 63 

Nine times a week. 
If he some scheme, like tea an' wnnocks><» 
Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-maxtie"" queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle* tongue j 
She 's just a devil wi' a rung ;^ 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Though by the neck she should be strung, 

She '11 no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-aiid-Forty,^ 
Blay still your milher's heart support ye j 
Then, though a minister grow dorty,*' 

An' kick your place. 
Ye '11 snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. 

Before his face. 

God bless your honours a' your days 
Wi* sowps o' kail* an' brats o' claise,? 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes^ 

That haunt Saint Jamie's ! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 

POSTSCniPT. 

Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies. 
See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise — 



4 )ea and windows ; an allusion to Mr. Pitt's commutatiOD ta^ 

r Conf\ise<lly mixed.' « Rash, fearless. t A cudgel. 

u The Scotch members of parliament. w Saucy. 

X Sups of kail-broth. j/ Ra^s of clothes. z Jack-daws. 



M BURNS' POEMS 

Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 

But blythe and frisky. 

She eyes her free-born, martial boys 

Tak afF their whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty chamis ! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms. 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves : 

Their gun 's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa* bide the stink o' pouther ; 
Their bauldest thought 's a hank'ring swither'' 

To Stan' or rin. 
Till skelp — a shot ! — they're afF a' throwther,* 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,'* 
Say, such is royal George's will. 

An' there 's the foe. 
He has nae thouglit but how to kill 

Twa at a blow, 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doublings tease him ; 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him : 

An' when he fa's. 
His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es^ him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek,*^ 
An' raise a philosophic reek,s 



a Cannot. b Hesitation. 

• All pell-mell, or in confusion. d A gill of Hig-lihad whiehy. 

« Leaves. / Shut. g; Smoke. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 55 

An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me whisky^s name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 
Scotland, my auld respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyies" ye moistify your leather. 
Till whare ye sit, on craps* o' heather. 

Ye tine your dam -^ 
(Freedom and WhisHy gang thegither !) 

Tak afF your dram M 

THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST.'"'* 

The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers" quat° their roanng play. 
An' hunger'd maukinP ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilki step betray 

VVhar she has been. 

The thresher's we^ry Ji'm gin-tree' 
The lee-langs day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had clos'd his e'e. 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence^ right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek," 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,* 

A Sometimes. i Crops. k Lose your urine. 

e Burns was not so much the votary of Bacchus as this and 
•Scotch Drink,' the preceding poem, wouhl lead the reader (a 
Buppose. When 'Auld Nanse Tiiinock,' the Mauchline landlady, 
fcfuad her name celebrated in this poem, she said, ' Robin Burn* 
may be a clever enoii^^li lad, but he has little rep^ard to truth ; 
for I m sure the chiel' was never in a' his life aboon tliree timea 
«'my house.' 

m Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a 
digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda. n A game on the ioe- 

o Did nuit. p A hare. 5 Each. r A flail. 

.♦ Ln-e-lonff. t In the country parlour. m Fire-aidaw 

w Smoke. 



56 BURNS' POEMS. 

That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,* 

The auld clay biggin '^ 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin'. 

All in this mottle,'' misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime. 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin' blethers* up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit,'' 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank and clarkit.^ 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,* 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof !« 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,^ 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith,? 
That I, henceforth, would bs rhxjme proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick** did draw J 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle lowe' I saw. 

Now bleezin* ^ bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie} braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ;™ 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 

X Cough-provoking smoke. y Building. 

Z Full of motes. a Foolish or romantic ideas. 

h Hearkened. c Wrote. d Badly provided with shil**!^ 

e Ninny. /Thick or clumsy hand. g Oath. 

h The latch of a door. i Flame of the fire. k Blazing. 

I A young girl. »>• Was silent 



MISCELLANEOUS. 67 

I glowVd as eerie 's I'd been dush't° 
In some wild glen ; 

When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, 
And stepped ben.® 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows j 
I took her for some Scottish Miis&, 

By that same token j 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A ' hair-brain'd sentimental trace,' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildy-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honour, 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen,P 
Till half a leg was scrimply'i seen j 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer"" it ; 
Sae straught,^ sae taper, tight, and clean, 

j\ane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And sgem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost ; 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 
With surging foam ; 

M stared friVhtfully, as if I had been suddenly pushed, or 
attacked by an ox. o Into the parlour. 

p A bright, or shinin» tartan, or chequered woollen etuff, much 
worn in Scotland, particularly in the Highlands. 

q Scantily. Equal. «■ Straight. 

D 2 



96 BURNS' POEMS 

There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 
The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds j^ 
Auld hermit Ayr staw" thro' his woods, 

On to the shore j 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient borough rear'd her head ; 

Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair. 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a race^ heroic wheel. 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows j 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Country^ Sa^oioin-,^ mark him well ; 
Bold Richardton's.y heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark^ who glorious fell, 
In high command ; 

t To make a loud continued noise, 
w Stole. tv The Wallaces. x William Wallace, 

y Adam Wallace, of Richardtou, cousin to the immortal pre- 
server of Scottish Independence. 

2 Wallace, laird of Ci'aig'ie, who was second in command, under 
Douglas, earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of 
Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally 
owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallani 
laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 59 

And He whom ruthless fates expel 
His native land. 

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade* 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colours strong ; 
Bold, soldier- featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 

Thro iriany a wild, romantic grove,^ 
Near many a hermit-fancy 'd cove 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love), 

In musing mood. 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe<^ 
The learned Sire and Sun 1 saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore 5 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward'^ I well could spy. 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by. 

To hand him on 
Where many a Patriot-name on high. 

And hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Faiy, 
A whispering throb did witness bear, 
Of kindred sweet, 

a Coilus, king of the Piets, from whom the district of K. 
said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near 
family seat of the Moiitgomeries of Coil's-lield, where his bu. 
place is still shewn. 

b Barskiraming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. 

c Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Profe«» 
Stewart. d Colonel FuUarton. 



60 BURNS' POEMS, 

When, with an elder sister's air. 

She did me greet :— 

All hail I my own inspired Bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard : 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard. 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

Know the great Genius of this larfd. 
Has many a light aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command. 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand. 

Their labours ply. 

They Scotia's race among them share j 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart ; 
Some teach the IJard, a darling care. 

The tuneful art. 

'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or 'mid the venai Senate's roar, 

They, sightless, stand. 
To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age. 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 
His Minstrel lays j 

Or tore, with noble ardour stung. 
The Sceptic's^ hoys. 

To lower orders are assign'd, 

The humbler raiiks of human kind. 

The rustic Bard, the lab 'ring Hind, 

I'he Artisan ; 
AH choose, as various they 're inclin'd 

The various man. 

When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
The threat'ning storm some strongly rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage skill ; 
And some mstruct the shepherd train 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

Some hint the lover's harmless wile : 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile 
Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil 

For humble gains, 
And makes his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

Some, bounded to a district-space. 
Explore at large man's infant race. 
To mark the embryotic trace. 

Of rustic Bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 
Jf these am I — Coila*" my name ; 
And this district as mine 1 claim, 
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of famOi 

Held ruling pow'r; 
£ mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 
* Thy natal hour. 

e David Hume, 
rlistrict in Ayrsli 
lUon, from Coil," or Coil us, a Pictish monajrch 



/Coila, from Ky!e, a district in Ayrshire, so called, saith lia* 



62 BURNS' POEMS. 

With future hope, I oft would gaze, 

fond, on thy little early ways, 

Thy rudely caroli'd, chiming phrase. 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple artless lays 

Of other times. 

I saw thee seek the sounding shore 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar, 

Struck thy young eye. 

Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth. 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boundless love. 

When ripen'd fields and azure skies, 
Cali'd forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

When youtliful love, warm-blushing, strong, 
Keen-shiv'rmg shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored vame, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To sooth thy flame. 

I saw thy pulse's madd'ning play. 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 
By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven # 

I taught thy manners-painting strains. 
The loves, the ways of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends : 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 

Become thy friends. 

Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe. 

With Shenstone's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose. 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 
Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade. 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 

Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
And trust me, not Potosi'sff mine, 

Nor kings' regard. 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

To give my counsels all in one. 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

With soul erect; 
And trust the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

g In South America, famed for its g»ild mtnas* 



G4 BURNS' POEMS. 

And wear thou this ! — she solemn said. 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves and berries red. 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 

A DREAM. 

TlioHfflits, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason, 
Lul surely Dicains were ne'er indicted treason. 

[On readinpr in tlie public papers, tlie Laureat's Ode, with the 
other parade of June 4, 17B6, tlie Author was no sooner dropt 
asleep, than he inia;?ined himself transported to the birth-daj 
levee; and in his drean:in^ fancy made the following;; address.] 

GuiD-JioitNiN' to your Majesty! 

May Heav'n augment your blisses. 
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 

A humble poet wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your levee. 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth siglit to see, 

Amang thae'' birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day. 

I see ye 're complimented thrang 

By monie a lord and lady ; 
God save the king ! 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco'^ easy said ay; 
The Poets too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready. 
Wad gar ye trow' ye ne'er do wrang. 

But ay unerring steady. 

On sic a day. 

For me ! before a monarch's face, 
Ev'n there I winna"> flatter 

r> Amon? those. t By a crowd. h Very. I BeficTei 

m Will not. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 
For, neither pension, post, nor place^ 

Ara I your humble debtor ; 
So, nae reflection on your grace, 

Your kingship to bespatter ; 
There 's monie waur" been o' tlie race, 
And aibhns ane" been better 

Than you this day, 
'Tis very true, my sov'reign King, 
]My skill may weel be doubted ; 
But facts are chiels that winna ding,P 
^ An' downa'i be disputed : 
Your royal nest,"" beneath your wino-. 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted,^ 
And now the third pa'it of the string, 
And less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day.' 
Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation. 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire. 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith ! I muckle" doubt, my Sire, 

^ Ye 've trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha in a barn or byre^^ 
Wad better fiil'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 
And now ye've gien auld Britain peace 

Her broken shins to plaster ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester ; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 
I shortly boost'' to pasture 

I' the crafty some day. 
H Worse. o Perhaps one. p Will noi ^tve way. o Cannot, 
f wlJ *'"■'■ «J<','P"VO"s- , * Ton. and patched. 

i written in allusion to the recent loss of America. n Much. 

IP A COW stable. « Must needs. y Croft, p rass field. 



65 



66 BURNS' POEMS. 

I 'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, 

A nanie not envy spairges/) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, G-d sake 1 let nae saving-Jit 

Abridge your bonnie barges* 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my liege ! may freedom geek** 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax'' corruption's neck, 

An' gie her for dissection ! 
But since 1 'm here, 1 '11 no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

1 his great birth-day. 

Hail, Majestic most excellent! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies ye ? 
Thae bonnie bairn-time,*^ Ileav'n has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze*^ ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, yoimg Potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I 'm tauld you 're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gna v your nails. 

An' curse your folly sair'y, 

g Soib or disparages, a Ships of the iia\7 . b H( Id up her head* 
cStretch. d Family of children. e Elevate. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 67 

That e'er you brak Diana's pales. 
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, 

By nignt or day 

Yet aft a ragged cowte'' 's been known 

To mak a noble aiver ;? 
So, ye may doucely'^ fill a throne, 

for a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, him at Agincourt'' wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
An' yet wi' funny queer Sir John,i 

He was an unco'" shaver 

For monie a day. 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg, 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug" 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughtyo dog 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then sv/ith !p an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye '11 stain the mitre 

Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks.i I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious goUeij/ stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Tlien heave aboard your grapple aim. 

An' large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

1 /-?"''•„ ^ Horse. A Wisely. i Idle conversation. 

* Km- Henry V. I Sir Jol.n FalstalT. F/rfe Shakspear*. 

Wi Strange, wlumsical. n Ear. o Proud, liaugiity. 

.. .>. .- /'Getaway. 7 Breeches, 

r Alluding to the newspaper accounts ot a certain royal sailor's 
amoQr. 

« Iroa. 



08 BURNS' POEMS. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,* 

An' gie you lads a plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa'. 

For kings are unco scant" ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma\ 

They're better just than waiit uy 
On onie day. 

God bless you a', consider now. 

Ye 're unco muckle dautet:^* 
But, ere the course o' life be thro', 

It may be bitter sautet :^ 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,y 

That yet hae tarrow'd^ at it : 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen* they iiae clautet'' 

Fu' clean that day. 

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Prince! O Chief of many tliroiicd Pow'rs, 
Tliat led th' embattled Seraphini to war.—Mitlon, 

O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges<= about the brunstane cootie,'^ 

To scaud^ poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,^ 
And let poor damned bodies be ; 



iFine, handsome. n Very few. w Very nutch caressed 

X Salted, pickled. y Cup or dish full. 2 Murmured. 

a The ant^le between the side and bottom of a wooden dish. 
b Scraped. c To dasli, or throw about. 

d Brimstone dish, or ladle. e Scald. f little. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 6^ 

I'm sure sma'8^ pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a Deil, 
To skelp* an' scaud poor dogs like me. 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kenn'd'' and noted is thy name ; 
An' the' yon lowin' heugh' 's thy hame. 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith I thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate,"" nor scaur." 

Whyles" rangmg like a roanng lion 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin'; 
Whyles on the strong- wing'd tempest flyin', 

TirlingP the kirks : 
Whyles in the human bosom pry in', 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I 've heard my reverend grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld, ruln'd castles, gray. 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 

\Vi' eldritch croon.l 

When twilight did my grannie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce,"" honest woman ! 
Aft yont* the dyke she 's heard you bummin', 

\Vi' eeriu* drone ; 
Or, rustlin', thro' the boortries" comin', 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae* dreary, windy, winter night. 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin'* light ; 

g Small. h Give. t Strike, or beat. k Known. 

I Flaming pit. m Bashful. n Apt to be scared. 

Sometimes. p Uncovering. </ Frigl)tuil hollow moan. 

r Wise, good. s Beyond. / Frighted, or frightful. 

u Elder-trees. w One. x Glininieriiig. 



rO iJURNS' POEMS. 

Wi you, mysel, I gal a fright, 

Aj'oat the lough ;y 
Ye, like a rash-bush,^ stood in sight, 

Wi'" waving sugh.* 

1 he cudgel in my nieve'' did shake, 
Each l)nstrd hair stood like a stake. 
When wi' an eldritch stour,"^ quaick — quaick— 

Amang the springs, 
Awa' ye squatter'd'i like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

Let ivarlochs^ grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed*^ nags. 
They skim the muirs an' diTzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues 

Owre howkito dead. 

Thence countra wives wi' toil an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn^^ in vain , 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure 's ta'en 

By witching skill : 
An' dawtit,* twal-pint*^ Hawkie's' gaen™ 

As yell's" the Jiill.« 

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, 

On young guidmen,P fond, keen, an' crouse ;1 



y A pool, or sheet of water. z A bush, or large tuft of rushes 
a Rushing noise of wind or water. 
b Hand, or list. c Tlie raisinij a cloud of dust. 

d Fluttered in water. e Wizards. / Ragwort. 
g Uig-s^-ed U17, or disinterred. Tliose who are, or were, believen 
in tne old traditions relative to witchcraft, supposed that the in- 
cantations of these demoniacs were frequently performed over 
dead bodies, which they dug^, scratched, or conjured out of their 
graves in order to perform their devilish orgies' niore efiectually. 
li Churn. i Fondled, caressed. ft 'IVelve-piiit. 

I Cow. m Gone. n Barren. 

o fiuU.— The literal English nieaninsr of these last two lines is, 
tha . a favourite cow, that gave daily twelve Scotch pints of milk 
'.equal to fortv-eiarht English pints), is become as barren as a 
bull. In consequence of witchcraft. 

p Men newlv niarned. q Courageous. 



MISCELLANEOUS. Jl 

When the best wark-l ume*" i' the house. 

By cantrip* wit. 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 

When thow^es* dissolve the snawy hoord. 
An' float the jingling icy-boord, 
Then Water kelpies^ haunt the foord, 

By your direction.. 
An' 'nighted trav'llers are allur'd 

'i'o their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies,'^ 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is, 
The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

JMe'er mair to rise. 

When Masons' mystic jcord an' grip 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught lo h-11 ! 

Lang syne in Eden's bonnie yard. 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An' a' the soul of love they shar'd 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird. 

In shady bow'r ; 

r A working tool,— Fully to appreciate the nieanin? of (lie 
stanza bejjinainsr ' llience mystic knots,' it is necessary for the 
hnalish reader to know, tliat a tradition was enterfaincd in Scot- 
land of the power of witchcraft to prevent consummation on the 
briual m^ht, by rendenn..' the ' young guid ma«. powerless Must 
at the bit,' or moment when, &c. ^ 

s A cliarm or spell. t Thaws. 

« A mischievous kind of spirits, said to haunt fords, or ferries, 

parUcularly m stormy nights. ' 

to Will-o'-the-wisp, or Jack-a-lantern. 



72 BURNS' POEMS. 

Then you, ye aulcl, snick-drawing* dog! 

Ye came to Paradise incog. 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa'!) 
An* gied the infant warid a shog,y 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 

D 'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,* 
Wi' reekit duds,^ an' reestit gizz,^ 
Ye did present your smoutie'' phiz, 

'Mang better folk. 
An' sklented'^ on the man of Uz 

Your spitefu' joke 1 

An* how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd* his ill-tongu'd wicked scawl,* 

Was warst aval 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Vour wily snares an' feclitingff fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael'^ did you pierce, 

Down to this time. 
Wad ding' a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye 're thinkin*, 
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin','' 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith 1 he 'U turn a corner jinkin',* 

An' cheat you yet. 

I'ut fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 

jf Trick-contri\ing'. y A violent shock. 2 Bustle. 

a Smoky clothes. b Withered, or scorched, wig. 

c Ugly, or smutty. d Hit aslant, or obliquely. 

« Loosed. /A scold. ^ Fiijhting-. A Vide Milton, book ^ 

t Puzzle. k Tripping. I Dodginf^. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 73 

Ye aiblins™ might — I dinna ken" 

Still hae a stake — 
I 'm wae to think upon yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake !•* 

ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs I 
From marking vt^ildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here Wealth still swells the golden tide. 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her rod j 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind. 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 

Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail I 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn ! 
Gay as the gilded summer sky, 

7rt Perhaps. m Do not know. 

o Written in the winter of 1784-5. 'The idea of an Addrew t© 

tlifi Deil was sugg;ested to the p et, by running over in his mind 

the many ludicrous accounts and representatlous we have, froai 

*erious quarters, of tliis august personage.'— Gi/6eri Burns. 

E 



74 BURNS' POEMS. 

Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair Burnet" strikes th' adoring eye, _ 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine, 
I see the Sire of love on high, 

And own his work indeed divine • 

There, watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold vet'ran, grey in arms. 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar ; 
" The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 
Have oft vidthstood assailing war. 

And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tear*, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home • 
Alas ! how chaiig'd the times to come ; 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just I 

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of 5'ore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps, 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, _ 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar. 

Bold-following where your fathers led I 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

Ail hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ' 

Miss Burnet of Monboddo. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 75 

From marking wildlj^-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade.P 

ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 

On crowning his Bust, at Ednam, Roxburifhshire, with Bayf, 
[Written by desire of the poet's friend, the Earl of Buchan.j 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds lier tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 

Or tunes Eolian strains between : 
While Summer, with a matron grace. 

Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 
Yet oft, delighted, slops to trace 

The progress of the spiky blade : 
While Autumn, benefactor kind. 

By Tweed erects his aged head. 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 
While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows. 
Housing the turbid torrent's roar. 

Or sweeping wild, a waste of snows : 
So long, sweet Poet of the Year, 

Shall bloom tliat wreath thou well hast jvon ; 
While Scotia, with exulting tear. 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 

THE POINT'S WELCOME 

q To his illegitimate child. 

Tnou 's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me, 
U ought of thee or of thy mammy, 

pThis poem is chiefly remarkable for the grand stanzas on 
the castle and Holyrood with which it cryncUides.-LockhartT 
«,^-i,'r/f^''''*? i',°'°'"*"^ ^y ^'■- C"'"«' and as its contento 
are rather of too indehcate a complexion to need elucidation the 
commentator has withheld his, pen. "i-iuduon, me 



76 BURNS' POEMS. 

Shall ever danton me or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady. 

Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 
Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I, fatherly, will kiss an' daut thee. 
As dear an' near my heart 1 set thee, 

Wi' as gude will, 
As a' the priests had seen me get 

That 's out o' h-Il. 

What tho' they ca' me fornicator. 
An' tease my name in kintry-clatter : 
The mair they tauk I 'm kent the better. 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue 's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint. 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to tlie warl' asklent, 

Which fools may scoff at; 
In my last plack thy part 's be in 't — 

The better half o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I Ml be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years 1 '11 e'e thee, 

An' think 't weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit. 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit. 

Without his failin's 1 
Twill please me mair to hear an' see 't 

Than stocket mailins. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 77 

TO A HAGGIS.r 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie* face. 
Great chieftain 0' the puddin'-race ! 
Aboon' them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch," tripe, or thairm :* 
We el are ye wordy'' of a grace 

As lang 's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill. 
Your hurdies like a distant hill. 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time 0' need. 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight,y 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight. 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reeking rich ! 

Then horn for horn'' they stretch an' strive 
Deil tak the hindmost ! on they drive. 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes=* belyve** 

Are bent like drums, 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,' 

Bethankif^ hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw^ a sow, 
Ot fricassee wad make her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner,* 
Looks down wi' sneermg, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner 1 

r A kind of pudding: boiled in the stomach of a cow, or shtcp. 

* Eneagring:, pleasing. t Above. u Paunch. 

w A small gut. x Worthy. y Wipe clejn. 

X A •poon made ef horn. a Bellies. 6 By and by. 

c To eplit. d Grace after meat. e SurtelU 

/ Loathing. 



78 BURNS' POEMS. 

Poor devil ! see him owie his trash, 
As feckless? as a wither 'd rash, 
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash. 

His nieve** a nit ;* 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, Juiggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie'' nieve a blade, 

He '11 mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,' 

Like taps o' thrissle.™ 

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking" ware 

That jaups° in luggiesP j 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE. 

My curse upon thy venom'd stang. 
That shoots my tortur'd gum.s alang ; 
And thro' my lugsi gies monie a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines. 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes. 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Ay mocks our groan ! 

g Puny, weak. h The fist. 

t Nut k Large, ample. I To lop off, 

m Tops of thistles. n Small portions. 

A jerk of waters, or a thin potion tliat will jerk or quash 1 
water. 

p A small wooden dish with a handle. g Ears. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 79 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle/ 
As round the fire the gigicts* keckle* 

To see me loup ;« 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle* 

Were in their doup.'^ 

O' a' the num'rous human dools,? 

Ill har'sts,^ dafi: bargains,* cutti/stools,^ 

Or worthy friends rak'd i* the mools,<= 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks 0' knaves, or fash'^ o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree.® 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell. 
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell. 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

lu dreadfu' raw,f 
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell 

AboonS tliem a' I 

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel'. 
That gars** the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a leel 

In gore a shoe-thick, — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's' Tooth-ache ! 

TO A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 

BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF DISTRESS. 

SwEFT flow'ret, pledge o' meikle'' love. 

And ward 0' monie a pray'r, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 

» The greater. * Fools. < Lan2:h. ?j I.eap, jump. 
%v A board in which are driven a number of sharp iron pin% 
nied for dressing hemp, flax, to. x Bacliside. 

y Sorrows. z Bad hanests. a Foolisli bargains, 

b Stool of repentance. c Laid in the grave. 

d Trouble. e The victory. /Row. 5- Above. 

/« Makes. i A tweivemontli. k Much. 



80 BURNS' POEMS. 

November hirples' o'er the lea. 

Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree, 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 
May He, who gives the rain to pour. 

And wrings the blast to blaw. 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

The bitter frost and snaw ! 
May He, the friend of woe and want, 

Who heals life's various stounds," 
Protect and guard the mother-plant. 

And heal her cruel wounds ! 
But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer morn ; 
Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 

Unscath'd" by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land ! 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

On turning one down with the Plough, in April, 1786. 
Wee,** modest, crimson-tipped flow'r. 
Thou 'st met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoureP 

Thy slender stem ; 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 
Alas ! it 's noi thy neebor sweet 1 
The bonnie Lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet !■■ 

Wi' spreckled breast. 
When upward-springing, blytlic, to greet 

The purpling East. 

/ Creeps, or linn's' »m Acute pains. n Unhurt. 

o Small. ]} Dust. q Nof. r Wet, wetnesg. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 81 

Cauld l>levv the bitter-biting North 
Upon thy early, humble birth 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted* forth 

Amid the storrfl, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield* 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie" stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

rhere, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share up-tears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
^Mveet Jiow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray 'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd : 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering irorth is giv'n. 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n. 
By human pride or cunning driven, 
To mis'ry's brink, 

< Peeped. I Slielter. m Dry, chapt, barren, 

E2 



82 BURNS' POEMS. 

Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 
He, ruiri'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That J ate ii thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's phufrh-share drives, elate 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush 'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom !' 

TO A MOUSE, 

On turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, 
November, 1785. 

Wee, sleekit," cow'rin',^^ tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic 's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa' sae hasty, 

Wi' bick'riu' brattle I'' 
1 wad be laithy to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring jmttle.^ 

I 'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An fellow moHal. 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve : 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live 
A daimen icher^ in a thrave,^ 

'S a sma' request : 

t When Burns first arrived in Edinburgh, the ' Lounger,' a 
weelily paper, edited by Henry Mackenzie, Esq. aufhnr of tlie 
• Man of Feeling,' was in course of publication. In that penodi- 
ual a whole number (the 'Lounger for Saturday, Decembers, 
1786,') was devoted to ' An account of Robert 13unis, tb.e Ayr- 
shire plouglnuan,' in which were given the address ' To a Moiui- 
tain Daisy j' and an extract from the ' Vision,' as sfjecn^.tSfJ of hii 
poetry. ' 

ti Sleelt, «' Cowering. x A short race. y Lota. 

7. Plough-staff. a An ear o I corn now and ib^n. 

6 A slioi k of torn. 



MISCELLANEOUS. gS 

I 'II get a blessing wi' the lave,* 

And never miss 't. 
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its srlly w^a's the wins*^ are strevvin' .' 
An' naething, now, to big^ a new ane, 

O' foggage*" green ! 
An' bleak December's wins ensuin', 

Baith snell? and keen ! 
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
And weary winter comin' fast, 
An' cozie'' here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell. 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 
That v/ee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! 
Nov thou 's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But* house or hald,'' 
To thole^ the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch'" cauld ! 
Eut, Mousie, thou art no thy lane," 
In proving /ojvs/^ /it may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men. 

Gang aft a-gley,** 
An lea'e us nought but grief and paiu, 

For promis'd joy. 
Still thou art blest, com par 'd wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! 1 backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

1 guess an'/{?ar.P 

c The rest. d Winds. e To bui!4. 

/Aftergrass. p Bitter, biting. h Snugly. 

i Without. k Hold, home. I To endure. 

« The hoar frost. n Not alone. o Off tlie rig-ht line. 

p 'The verses to the Mouse, and Mountain Daisy, wtji. ooiH' 

"•ed on M\e occasions nientioi ' 

Idinpf til olough.' — Gilbert Bu 



potted on Mie occasions nientioncd, and wliile tlieAutkor 



84 BURNS' POEMS. 

LINES 

ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH-TURIT, 
A wild Scene among the Hills of Ouchtettyre. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake. 

For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 

Tell ine," fellow-creatures, why 

At my presence thus you fly 1 

Why disturb your social joys, j 

Parent, filial, kindred ties, — 

Common friend to you and me, 

Nature's gifts to all are free : 

Peaceful keep your dimpling wave. 

Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 

Or beneath the shelt'ring rock, 

Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace: 
Man, your proud usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride. 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells. 
Strong necessity compels : 
But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A rav direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains. 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
Far from human haunts and ways j 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if Man's superior might. 
Dare invade your native right. 



MISCELLA.NEOUS. 8fi 

On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you sco.n ; 
Swiftly seek on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave- 

SONNE'^ 

Written January 25, 1793, the Birth-day of the Author^ 
On hearing a Thrush in a Morning Walk. 

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough j 
Sirxg on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain j 
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 

At thy blythe carol clears his furrow'd brow : 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this op'ning day ! [skies ! 
Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient 
Iliches denied, thy boon was purer joys. 

What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of Poverty and Care ; 

The mite high Heav'n bestow'd, that mite with 
thee I '11 share. 

VERSES 

On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which a fellow 
had just shot at. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art. 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 
May never Pity sooth thee with a sigh. 

Nor ever Pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go, live, poor wand'rer of the wood and field. 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thick'ning brakes and verdant plains 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 



86 BURNS' POEMS. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonttd rest- 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The shelt'ring rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, v/ait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I '11 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless 
fate. 

THE AULD FARMER'S 

New-Year Morning Salutation to his Aul'd Mare Maggie, 

On gh-ing: her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to Hansel 
in the New Year. 

A GuiD new year, I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae there 's a rippi to thy auld baggie ;•■ 
The' thou 's howe-backit,* now, an' knaggie,^ 

I 've seen the day 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie" 

Out-owre the lay. 
The' now thou 's dowie,^^ stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide 's as white 's a daisy, 
I 've seen thee dappl'd, sleek, and glaizie,'' 

A bonnie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raissy thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly, buirdly,^ steeve,^ an' swank,** 
An' set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird f 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,^ 

Like onie bird. 

q A handful of unlhrcshed corn. r Belly. 

« Sunk in the back. t Like knai^s, or points of rocki. 

M Diminutive of stag-. tw'Woni with fatiirue. 

X Sniootli Hke glass. y To inflame, or madden. 

3 Stout made. a Firm, compacted. I Stately. 

c Earth. d A pool of standing water. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 87 

It's now some nine-an'-tv/enty year, 
Sia' thou was my guid-fathei's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher^ clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel won gear, 

An' thou was stark." 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie :8 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie. 

Ye ne'er was donsie ;•* 
But hamely, tawic,* quiet, an' cannie. 

An' unco sonsie.'' 

That day ye danc'd ^vi' muckle pride. 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

VVi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart' I could bragged"" wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow" but hoyte** and hobble, 
An' ^vintle like a saumont-cobble,P 
That day ye was a jinkeri noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble,"^ 
• Far, farbehin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh," 

An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,* 

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh^," 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies* ran and stood abeigh,^ 

And ca't thee m.ad. 

e A niarriuge portion. /Stout. g Mother, dam. 

A Unlucky. i Peaceable to be handled. h Good-lookinff. 

I A district in Aberdeenshire. m Challenged. n Can. 

Amble crazily. p Salmon fishing-boat. 

• That turfis quickly. r To reel. * Proud, high-mettledi 

1 Tedious, long about it. « To scream. 
jp Town people. i At a shv distance. 



83 BURNS' POEMS. 

When thou was corn't,y an' I was mellow. 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses^ thou had ne'er a fellow. 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou paid tiiem hollow, 

Where'er thou gaed. 

Thesma', droop-rurapl't,* hunter- cattle, 
Might aiblins"^ waur't<= thee for a brattle j<* 
But sax Scotch miles, thou try't their mettle 

An' gar't them whaizle :® 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle*^ 

O' saughs or hazle. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',^ 
As e'er in tug or tow> was drawn ! 
Aft thee an' 1, in aught'' hours gaun,* 

On guid JNIarch weather, 
Hae turn'd sax"' rood beside our han' 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't," an' fecht,** an' fliskit,P 
iiut thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit. 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fiU'd brisket,i 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
Till spritty knowes"" wad rair't and risket,^ 

And slypet' owre. 

When frosts lay lang an' snaws were deep^ 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog" a wee bit heap 

y Well fed with oats. 
J A race at country \vedclini,'s, who shall first reach the brkt«- 
(frooni's house on returning: I'roni churcli. 
a That droops at the crupi)er. Purhaps. c Worsted. 
d A short race. e fliade tliem wheeze. f A twig. 

g Willow. 
A The near-horse of the hindmost pair in the plouf^li. 
i Roue. k Eiiflit. t Goinsj, tn Six. 

Rfcled forward. o Fought. p Fretted. q The breult 
r Small hills full of tough rooted plants or weeds. 
« Make a noise like the tearing of roots. t Fell. 

u Wooden Dish. 



MISCELLANEOUS. gg 

Aboon the timmer ;^ 

I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer.'' 

In cart or car thou never reestit ;y 

The steyest brae^ thou wad hae fac'd it ; 

Thou never lap,* and stent,** and breastit," 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,^ 

Thou snoov't^ awa. 

My plevgh is now thy bairn-time a' ^^ 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw : 
Forbye sax mae I 've sell't awa',S 

' That thou hast nurst : 

They drew me thretteen pund an' twa* 
The vera warst. 

Monie a sair darg' we twa hae wrought. 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age v/e 're brought 

Wi' something yet. 

An' think na', my auld trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou 's less deservin'. 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin' 

For my last^bii,'' 
A heapet* stimpai-t,'^ I '11 reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We 've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We '11 toyte" about wi' ane anither ; 

w Above the brim. * Summer. 

y Stood restive. z Steepest hill. 

« Leaped. 6 Reared. Sprung up, or forward. 

d Hastened. e Went smoothly. 

/All the team belonffinij to my plough are of thy brood. 

g Besides six more winch 1 have sold. 

h Thirteen pounds and two — perhaps fifteen pounds is hera 

meant, as the Poet praises the goodness of Maifgie's-stock. 

i Day's labour. A My last drinking bout. 

{ Heaped. tn Tne eighth part of a bushel. n Totter. 



90 BURNS' POEMS. 

Wi' tentie*' care I 'II flit thy tether, 
To some hain'dP rig, 

Whare ye may nobly raxi your leather, 
\Vi' sma' fatigue. 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF 
POOR MAILIE 

The Author's only Pet Yowe. 
An unco mourn/u^ Tale, 

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 

Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 

Upon her cloof she coost^ a hitch. 

An* owr-e she vvarsl'd' in the ditch : ♦ 

There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 

When Hughoc" he came doytin'^ by. 

Wi' glowrin' een,'' an lifted ban's 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended. 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it 
He gaped wide, but naething spak ! 
y'.t length poor IMailie silence brak : 

' thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my wofu' case ! 
INIy (lying words attentive hear. 
And bear them to my IMaster dear. 

* Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O' bid him never tie them mair 
Wi'. wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' ! 

* Tell him he was a Master kin', 

Canrious. p Spared. a Stretch. r Hoof. s Did 
t Wrestled, or fell etnig^gling. u A neebor herd """ 
to Stupidly. " X Staring eyes. 



MISCELLANEOUS. Ql 

An' ay was guid to me and mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him 
' O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods,y an' butchers' knives ! 
But gie them good cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsei' : 
An' tent them duly, e'en and morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. 

* An' may they never learn the gaets' 
Of ither vile wanrestfu'* pets ; 
To slink thro' slaps,'' an' reave.c an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears,^ 
For monie a year come thro' the shears : 
So wives will gie them, bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet « for them when they're dead. 

' My poor toop-lamh,^ my son an' heir, 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
An', if he live to be a beast, * 
To pit some havins? in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name. 
To stay content wi' yowes'' at hame j 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots' 
Like ither menseless'', graceless brutes. 

' An' niest' my yowk-, silly thmgr, 
Gude™ keep thee frae a tether string .' 
O, may thou ne'er forgather" up 
Wi' 6nie blastit," moorland toop ;P 

t ay keep mind to moopi an' mell'" 
\VV sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

* And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith ; 

y Foxes. z Manners. 

a Restless. b Gates. c Rove. d Forefathers. 

Ween. / Ram-lamb. g Good-manners. h Ewe». 

i Hoofs. k Ill-bred. I Next. jn God. 

To meet. o Blasted. p Ram. q To nibble as a sheep. 

r Meddle. 



92 BURNS' POEMS. 

An' when you think upo* your mither; 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

' Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether. 
An' for thy pains, thou 's get my blether.'* 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head. 
An' clos'd her een* amang the dead. 

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut" tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ;^ 
The last sad cap-stane'' of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie 's dead ! 

It 's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or mak our Bardie, (iowie,? wear 

The mourning weed : 
He 's lost a friend and neebor dear. 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the town she trotted by him ; 
A lang half mile she could descry him ;, 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 

She ran wi* speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him. 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 

An* could behave herself wi' mense :* 

I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence 

Thro' thievish greed ;* 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence** 

Sin' Mailie 's dead. 

t Bladder. t Eyes. « Salt. w Remedy. 

X Cope-8t«iiie, er. top-stone. j/ Worn with grief. 

Decency. a Greediness. J Tlie country parlour* 



MISCELLANEOUS. Q3 

Or, if he wanders up the howe,*' 
Her living image in her yowe 
Comes bleating to him, o'er the knowe. 

For bits 0' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe"* 

For JVIailie dead. 
She was nae get o' moorland tips,« 
Wi' tauted ket*" an' hairy hips ; 
For her forbears?: were brought in ships 

Frae 'yont the Tweed ; 
A bonnier/ees/|h ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 
Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile wanchancie* thing — a rape l^ 
It maks guid fellows girn' an' gape, 

Wi' chokin' dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 
O, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon"" 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead! 

THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR 
WATER,* 

To the noble Duke of Athole. 

My Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you 'II hear 

Your humble slave complain, 

e A hollow, or dell. d Roll. e Ram. / Matted fleece. 

g Prosrenitors. h Fleece. i Unlucky. h Rope 

I lo twist the features in a^oiiy. m A hollow moan. 

* liruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and 

d"h'"'li«'"" "^^ '^^^^ ^ '""'^'' ""t^'*''^*^'' ^y "'** """" °' ""eea 



04 BURNS' POEMS. 

How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summ.ei-pride, 
Dry-with8ring,waste my foamy streams. 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping glowrin'" trouts. 

That thro' my waters play. 
If, in their random, wanton spouts. 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow. 
They 're left the whit'ning stanes amang. 

In grasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat° wi' spite and teen.P 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That, to a Bard, 1 should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Ev'n as I was he shor'di me ; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn ;•■ 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say 't mysel. 

Worth gaun* a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

Yo grant my highest wishes. 
He '11 shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees. 

And bonnie spreading bushes ; 

1 Stiring'. Wept. p Grief, sorrow. q Offered 

r A prccipkc, or waterfall. s Going. 



MISCELLANEOUS. { 

Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 
You '11 wander on my banks. 

And listen monie a grateful bird 
Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober lav'rock* warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink," music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite^ clear. 

The mavis" mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer. 

In all her locks of yellow : 

This, too, a covert shall ensure. 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukiny sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 

To weave his crown of flov/'rs ; 
Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat. 

From prone descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet, endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair. 
Despising worlds with all their wealth, 

As empty, idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charmfc. 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks^ extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 
Some musing Bard may stray, ^ 

And eye the smoking dewy lawn. 
And misty mountain, grey ; 



/ Lark. « Goldfinch. w Linnet. 

X Thrush. y The hare. t Uirch trees. 



06 BURNS' POEMS. 

Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
Mild-chequ'ring thro' the trees. 

Rave to my darkly dashing stream. 
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs and ashes cool 

IMy lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool. 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed: 
Let fragrant birks,* in woodbines drest. 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And for the little songster's nest^ 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop . 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may, thro' Albion's fartliest ken. 

To social-flowing glasses. 
The grace be — ' Athole's honest men. 

And Athole's bonnie lasses I' 

THE BRIGS* 0-F AYR. 

Inscribed to J. Ballantyne, Esq. Ayr. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough. 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, [bush ; 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn 
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild whistling o'er 

the hill; 
Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
By early Poverty to hardship steel 'd. 
And tram'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field j 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes] 

a Birch-trees. * Bridges. 



MISCELLANEOUS. fij 

Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strinp-s. 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard — 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward ! 
Still,^ if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd, in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
When Ballantyne'' befriends his humble name» 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame. 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells. 
The god-like bliss, to give, alone excels. 

'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap,« 
And thack and rape'* secure the toil-v/on crap; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith'^ 
Of coming VVinter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er tlieir summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds, an' flowers' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
"The death o' devils — smoor'df wi' brimstone reek;g 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; 
The feather'd field -mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
^ires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie: 
rWhat warm poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rinos, 
Except perhaps the robin's whistlin? glee°, ' 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree- 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days. 
Mild, calm , serene, wide spi-eads the noon-tide blaze, 
While thick the gosscmiour wav es wanton in the rays*. 

ftJohn Ballantyne, Esq. Banker, Ayr, one of our Poet's earliest 
pmtrons. c Coieriiij!-. 

d 'hatch secured Willi ropes of straw, &c. 
*Da>uagfc. /SmoihereU. ^ Smoke. 

F 



28 BURNS' POEMS. 

*Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward ; 

Ae night within the ancient burgh of Ayr, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply press'd wi' care; 

He left his bed, and took his wayward rout. 

And down by Simpson's'' wheelM the left about : 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

7'o witness what I after shall narrate; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high. 

He wander'd out, he knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Dunoeon-clock had numbered two. 

And Wallace Tow'r' had sworn the fact was true: 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar, 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; [shore 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree: 

'J'he chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 

Crept, gently-crusting, o'er tlie glittering stream. — 

When, lo! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh'^ of whistling wings he heard; 
Two dusky forms dart tliro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Cos' drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' An Id Brig his hairy shape uprears. 
The ither flutters o'er the rising i)iers ; 
Our warlock'" Rhymer instantly descry 'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs 'if' Ayr preside. 
(That bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 
And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual folk; 
Fays, spunkies, kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictlsh race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd" lang. 
Yet teughly doure," he badeP an unco bang.i 

h A noted tavern at the Auld Brij end, 

t Dunp:eon-ciock and Wallace Tower, the two steeples. 

k The continued rushing noise of wind. 

/ The g:o§.hawk, or falcon. »t Wizard. n WrestlefL 

o roughly durable. jj Did bide, sustain, or endure. 

^Sustained the repeated shocks of the floods ajid currents. 



raSCELLANEOUS. go 

New Brig was buskif in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams, got; 
In 's hand five taper staves as smooth 's a bead, 
Wi' virls* and whirlygigums' at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e. 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless" sneer to see his modish mien. 
He, down the water, gies him this guid-e'en :^ — 

AULD imiG. 

I doubt na', frien', ye'll think ye 're nae sheep- 
shank ,'' 
Ance ye were streekitv o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day, I doubt, ye '11 never see; 
There '11 be, if that date come, I '11 wad a bodle,' 
Some fev/er whigmeleeries* in your noddle. 

NEW BUIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense,'' 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street. 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet^ 
Your ruin'd, formless Imlk o' stane an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time 1 
There 's men o' tii^te would take the Duckat 

stream,*' 
Tho' they should cast the very sark** and o. ....-, 
Kre they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly Oothic hulk as you. 

r Dressed. s A riii? which s'.irromiils a column, &c, 

/ Useless oniaiiieiits. 

II CoKI, dry — s|)okeii of a person's demennoiir. 

((• Salutation, or <j;iH)d evening-. .r No mean personage 

(y Suitiiieii. z Let a bodle; i. e. A small coin. 

a Wliinis, tuncies. t Good-breeding. 

c A iioteci ford just dUovc Ai:i<i Brig. 



iOO BURNS' POEMS. 



AULD BHIG. 



Conceited gowk !^ puff 'd up wi' windy pride ! 
This monie a year I 've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild* I 'm sair forfairn.S' 
I '11 be a brig when ye 're a shapeless cairn ;^ 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When fiom the hills where springs the brawling 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, [Coil, 
Or where the Greenock wiiids his moorland course, 
Or haunted Carpal' draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes,'' 
In monie a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes;' 
While crashing ice, borne on the roarmg speat,'" 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; 
And from Glenbuck," down to the Ratton-key,** 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 
Then down ye '11 hurl — deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaupsP up to the pouring skies : 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That architecture's noble art is lost. 



NEW BRIG. 

Fme architecture ! trowth, I needs must say't o't. 
The L— d be thankit that we 've tint the gatei o't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; 

e Cuckoo ; applied iis a term of contempt. 

f Old a^e. g Worn out. A A loose heap of stones. 

'i The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the 

west of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by 

the name of Ghuuls, still continue pertinaciously to iriabit. 

h Thaws. / Snow-water rolls. 

m A sweepino: tonent after a thaw. 

n The source of the river Ayr. 

o A small landing--piare above the lar^e quay. 

p The muddy jerks of agitated water. q Lott the way of it. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 101 

O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves. 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
Windovi'S and doors in nameless sculpture drest. 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; 
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee. 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited'' monkish race, 
Or frosty maids, forsworn the dear embrace ; 
Or cuifs* of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Burgh' denies protection. 
And soon may they expire, unbless'd with resur- 
rection ! 

AULD 13R1G. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings," 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' monie a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths of righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce^ Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae bless'd tliis town , 
Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles" to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly 

Writers : 
A' ye douce folk 1 've borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would you say or do ? 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
Vo see sv^h melancholy alteration ; 

r StiipiGfid. » s Blockheads. I Borough. 

M C'oe\'aJsi. w Wise. X The loins. 



102 BURNS' POEMS. 

And, agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base degen'rate race'? 
Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory, 
In plain braidi' Scots hold forth a plain braid atory I 
Nae langer thrifty citizens an' douce,^ 
IMeet owre a pint, or in the council-house ; 
But staumrel,* corky-headed, graceless gentry. 
The herryraent'' and ruin of tlie country ; 
Men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear*^ on d — d new 
tii'igs and harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now haud<* you there ! for faith ye 've said cnouj/h. 
And muckle^ mair than ye can make to through. 
As for your priesthood, 1 shall say but little, 
Corbies" and clergy are a shot riglit kittle :'' 
But under favour o' your langer beard. 
Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spar'd : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae' a handle 
To mouth a ' citizen,' a term o' scandal : 
Nae mair the council waddles down the street. 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise priggin'^ owre hops an' raisins, 
Or gather'd I'b'ral views in bonds and seisins. 
If haply Knowledge on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd' them with a glimmer of his lamp. 
And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd 

them. 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver™ might been said, 
What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed, 

y Broad. z Wise, prudent. a H:ilf-\»»tt(Hl. 

6 Plunderers. c Well-saved money. d HiM. p Much. 

f Make out, or prove. g A sii-jcit s of crows. 

h Ticklish, ditficuU to come at. i I'o liave. 

k Cheapening. I Offered. in Idle lale. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 103 

No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glitt'ring stream they fcatly danc'd 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet ; 
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan," thairm"-inspiring sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When through his dear strathspeys they bore with 

Highland rage ; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs. 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares j 
How would his Highland lugP been nobler fir'd 
And e'en his matchless hand with finer touch 

inspir'd ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd. 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart 

The Genius of the stream in front appears, 
A venerable chief advanc'd in years : 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd. 
His manly leg with garter-tanglei bound : 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring , 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye ; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreath 'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary shew, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, 
from where the Feal"" wild-woody coverts hide j 



H A well-known performer of Scottish music on the vioUn. 
p Ear. 
Field, meadow. 



o Fiddle-string. p Ear. q Sen-wead. 

-eld. 1 ' 



lOi BURNS' POEMS. 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form,* came from the tow'rs of Stair ; 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine,' their long-lov'd abode : 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crovvn'd with a hazel 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath [wreath, 

The broken iron instruments of Death; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling 
wrath. 

LINES 

Written with a pencil, standing' by the Fall of Fyers, 
near Locli-Ness. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds. 
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream le- 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow, [sounds. 
As deep recoiling surges foam below. 
Prone down tlie rock the whit'ning sheet descends, 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish 'd, rends. 
Dim seen thro' rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, 
Ihe hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 
An' still, belov/, the horrid cauldron boils — 



LINES 

Written witli a pencil, over tlie chimney-piece, in the parlour 
of an inn at Kunmoie, Tayniouth. 

AoMiniNo Nature in her wildest grace. 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace j 
O'er many a winding dale a,nd painful steep. 
The abodes of covey 'd grouse and timid sheep. 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
I ill fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
'! he meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
1 he woods, wild-scatter 'd, clothe their ample sides 

* Mrs. Stewart. t See note c, P. 59. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 105 

Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hillsj 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native tast3 ; 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village glittering in the noon-tide beam — 



Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone, wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre. 
And look through Nature witii creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to sooth her bitter, rankling wounds . 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch 

her scan, 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man." 



INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO 
INDEPENDENCE, 

At Kerroti<?htrj', the Scat of Mr. Heron, Author of a Life of the 
Poet, History of Scotland, &C.&C.; written in Summer, 1795. 

Tiiou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; 

Prepar'd pow'r's proudest frown to brave. 

Who wilt not be,nor have a slave; 

Virtue alone who dost revere. 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear, — 

Approach this shrine, and worship here. 

u These two Fragments were composed in the Autumn of 1797, 
when the poet was on a tour to the Highlands with Mr. W Nicol, 
of the High School, Edinburgh. 

F 2 



106 BURNS' POEMS. 

ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserv'd ! 
In chase o' thee what crowds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk, enerv'd 

'JMang heaps o' clavers ;* 
And och ! o'er aft'' thy joesJ hae starv'd, 

'I\lid a' thy favours ! 

Say, lassie, why thy train amang 
While loud the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin, skelp''' alang 

T"u death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang, 

But wi' miscarriage 1 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives-, 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives ; 
Wee* Pope, the knurlin,*>'tilK him 'rives 

Horatian fame j*^ 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauhl, survives 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus ! wha matclies 1 
They 're no herd's ballats, JMaro's catches: 
Squire Pope but busks*' his skinklin'' patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders.s nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear,** 
Will nane the shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share 

A rival place I 

w Idle stones. x Over often. y Thy lovers,. z Trip. 

a Little. b Dwarf. c To. 

d 'rives Horatian fame ;J i.e. Divides, or shares fame with 
lorace, e Dresses. / A small portion. 

g Hundreds. A Learning. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 107 

Yes, there is ane — a Scottish callan! ^ 
There 's ane — come forrit,'' honest Allan !^ 
Ihou need na jouk'» beyond the hallan," 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tamtallan/* 

But thou 's for ever ' 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines,P 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines: 

Nae gowdeni stream thro' myrtles twines. 

Where Piiilomel, 
While niglitly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens'" thy burnie* strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes j* 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray. 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are Nature's sel' ;" 
Nae bombast spates^ o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap* conceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love, 
That charm, that can the strongest quell. 

The sternest move. 

ON THE LATE 

CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 

Tlirough Scotland, collecting- the Antiquities of that Kingdom. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae INIaidenkirk to Johnie Groat's ; 
If there 's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it :y 

i Boy. k Forward. I AJlan Ramsay. 

m To hang the head. n A party-wall in a cottage. 

The name of a mountain. 

» Exactly, to a nicety. <? Golden. r Daisied dales. 

• Rivulet. t Clothes. u Self. w Torrents. x Short. 

y 1 advite you to be cautious. 



108 BURNS' POEMS. 

A chield's amang you takin' notes, 

And, faith, he '11 prent rt. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel^ wight, 
0' stature short, but genius bright. 

That 's he, mark weel— 
And wow!* he has an unco slight^ 

O' cauk and keel.*^ 

By some auld houlet*^-haunted biggin',* 

Or kirk deserted by its riggen. 

It 's ten to ane ye '11 find him snug in 

Some eldritch*^ part, 
Wi' deils they say, L — d safe 's ! colleaguiu' 

At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaisto that haunts auld ha' or cham'er,'' 

Ye gipsey gang that deal in glamor,' 

And you deep-read in hell's black grammar. 

Warlocks'' an' witches ; 
Ye '11 quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b — es • 

It 's tauld he was a sodger' bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he 's quat"^ the spurtle blade," 

And dog-skiu wallet. 
And taen the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth° o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty airn capsP and jingling jackets.^ 

2 Pursy, bloated. a An exclamation of pleasure, or woiidei. 

b Great sleight, or dexterity. c Chalk and red clay. 

d An owl. e Building. See his Antiquities of Scotland. 

/Frightful, ghastly. g Each ghost. 

h Old hall, or chamber. 

t Fortune-telling, pretending to a knowledge of future events bi 

magic, &.'c. h Wizards. I Soldier. 

m Did quit. n A sort of nicknimie for a sword. 

o Aplenty. p Iron helmets. 

q Coats of mail, &c. See his Treatise on Ancient Armour. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 109 

Wad baud the Lothians three in tackets/ 
A towmont guld ;* 

An' parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 
Before the flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
And Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 
O' Balaam's ass j 
A broom-stick o' the Witch of Endor, 
Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye," he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,** 
The cut of Adam's philioeg ;" * 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig? 

He '11 prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg,^ 

Or long-kail gullie.* 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
(For meikle glee and fun has he,) 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi* him ; 
And })0)-t, port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye '11 see him J 

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chield,^ O Grose ! 
Whae'er o thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I 'd take the rascal by the nose. 

Wad say. Shame fa' thee ! 

r Small nails. 

s Would furnish tacks enough to supply the three counties of 

Lothian for a twelvemonth. t Forridgre-po ts. 

u Besides. w Quite readily. 

* The short petticoat, part of the Highlanc droFs. 

y Throat z A folding', or clasp knife. 

t A Urge knife used for cutting kail. '/ Fillow. 



110 BURNS' POEMS. 

VERSES WRITTEN AT SELKIRK. 

AuLD chuckle Reekie"^ 's sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance weel burnisht crest, 
Nae joy her bonnie buskit^ nest 

Can yield ava/ 
Her darhng bird that she lo'es best, 
Willie 's avva! 

Willie was a witty wight,? 
And had o' things an unco'^ slight ; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 

And trig an' braw •} 
But now they 'II busk"^ her like a fright, 

, Willie 's awa ! 
The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd. 
The bauldest o' them a he cow'd •} 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That was a law : 
We Ve lost a birkie"^ weel worth gowd 

Willie 's awa! 
Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,* 
Frae colleges, and boarding schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools," 

In glen or shaw ;P 
He who could brush them down to mools,'! 

Willie 's awa ! 
The brethren o* the Commerce-chaumer'' 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour ; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a' ; 

1 fear they '11 now mak mony a stammer, 

Willie 's awa ! 

r To V.'illiam Creech, Esq. Ediiibiirdi, author of ' Furtive 
Pieces,' &c. and the Poet's worthy publisher. 
d Etlinburi,'h, e Dressed. _/At all. g A superior sfeniui. 
A Very great. i Spruce and fine. k Dress. I Friifhtciied, 

711 Clever fellow, 7i Foolish, thoughtless young persons. 

Mushrooms. p A small wood in a hollow. 7 Dust. 

rTlie Chamber of Commerce of Edinburgh, of which Mr. C. 
was secretary. 



MISCELLANEOUS. U\ 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and poets pour,* 
And toothy critics by the core. 

In bloody raw! 
The adjutant o' a' the score, 

Willie 's awa! 

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Tyller's and Greenfield's modest grace; 
M'Kenzie, Stuart, such a brace, 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun' meet some ither place, 

Willie 's awa ! 

Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna quicken. 
He cheeps" like some bewilder'd chicken, 
Scar'd frae its minnie^'' and the clecken" 

By hoodie-craw ;y 
Grief's gien'^ his heart an unco kickin', 

Willie 's awa ! 

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd, girnin'* blellum,'' 
And Calvin's fock<= are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum'^ 

His quill may draw; 
He wha could brawlie^ ward their bellum/ 

Willie 's awa! 

Up wimpling,o stately Tweed I 've sped, 
And Eden scenes on chrystal Jed, 
And Etrick banks now roaring red. 

While tempests blaw; 
But ev'ry joy and pleasure 's fled, 

Willie 's awa! 

May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 

s Many literary gentlemen were accustomeJ to meet at Mr 
C — 's house at breakfast. t Must. « Cliirps. 

to Mother. x Jirood. y The pewit-gull. z Given. 

a Grinnins:. b A talking fellow. c People. 

d A worthless fellow. e Finely. /Their ill nature. 

g Meandering. 



112 BURNS' POEMS. 

And, lastly, streekit** out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee ! Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 

May never wicked fortune touzle him! 
May never wicked men bamboozle him ! 
UnUl a pow' as auld"^ 's Mebhusalem ! 

He canty claw ! ' 
Then to the blessed, new Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa! 

LIBERTY.— A FRAGMENT. 
TiiEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among — 
lliee fam'd for martial deed and sacred song'— 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of freedom fled] 
Immingled with the mighty dead! 

Beneath that hallow'd turf where Wallace lies! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds in silence sweep ; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep. 
Nor give the coward secret breath. — • 

Is this the power in freedom's war 

That wont to bid the battle rage 1 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing. 
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quench'd in darkness like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 

THE VOWELS.— A TALE. 

'TwAS where the birch and sounding thong are 
The noisy domicile of pedant pride; [plied. 

Where Ignorance her darkening vapour throws. 
And cruelty directs the thickening blows; 

h StreUhed. i HeoJ. A Old. I Cheerfully scrctch. 



MISCELLANEOUS. ^S 

Upon a time. Sir Abece the great. 

In all his pedagogic powers elate, 

His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 

And call the trembling vowels to account. 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight. 
But, ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his wa.y. 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted, ai! 

Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous grace 
The justling tears ran down his honest face ! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own, 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 
The pedant stifles keen tlie Roman sound 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound ; 
And next the title following close behind. 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. 

The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded Y! 
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply: 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round. 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground ! 

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
Th* Inquisitor of Spain the most expert. 
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast, 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast. 
In helpless infant's tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 

FRAGMENT, 

Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox. 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How virtue and vice blend their black and their 

white ; 
How genius, the illustrious father of fiction. 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction— 



114 BUllxNS' I'OKAJH. 

1 sing: If these mortals, the critics, sliould bustle, 
I care not. not I, let the critics go whistle, [glory 
But now for a patron, whose name and whose 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 
Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere 

lucky hits; 
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so 

strong. 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
No man wi^h the half of 'em e'er went quite right j 
A sorry, poor mLsbegot son of the Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good L — d, what is man ! for as simple he looks. 
Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and 

his evil, 
All in all he 's a problem must puzzle the devil. 
On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely 

labours, [its neighbours : 

That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you 

know him ? [shew him. 

Pull the string, ruling passion, the picture will 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, [him j 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 
And think human nature they truly describe ; 
Have you found this, or t'other 1 there 's more in 

the wind. 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you '11 find. 
But such is the fl&w, or the depth of the plan. 
In the make of that wonderful creature call'd Man, 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim. 
Nor even two different shades of the same. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 115 

Thougn like as was ever twin brother to brother. 
Possessing the one shall imply j'ou 've the other. 

SKETCH.* 

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets, 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets, 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la Inigatelle, et vive t'amoia- ; 
So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood ; 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 

SCOTS PROLOGUE. 

For Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Night, Dumfries. 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
Hov/ this new play an' tnat new sang is comin'] 
Why is outlandish stuff sae mickle courted ? 
Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported 1 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 

*Tliis Sketch seems to be one of a series, intended for a pro- 
jected wori4, under the title of 'The Poet's Progress.' Tliis cha- 
racter was sent as a specimen, accompanied by a letter, to Pro- 
fessor Dugald Stewart, in whicli it is thus noticed. ' The frag- 
ment beginning 'A little, upright, pert, tart,' &c. I have not 
shewn to any man living, till I iiow shew it to you. It forms the 
postulata, tlie axion:s, the definition of a character, which, if it 
appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of li°:lits. This parti- 
cular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at portrait 
gketcliing.' 



116 BURNS' POEMS. 

Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece, 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enough in Caledonian story, 
Would shew the tragic muse in a' her glory. — 

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell? 
Where are the muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first un?heath'd the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin? 
O for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene, 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen I 
\''ain all th' omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 
A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 
As able and as cruel as the devil ! 
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And though your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas follow'd to the martial strife, 
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads ! 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land. 
Would take the muses' servants by the hand ; 
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend 

them ; 
And aiblins'' when they winna stand the test. 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best," 
Wouhl a' the land do this, then I '11 be caution' 
Ye '11 soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation. 
Will gar" Fame blaw until her trumpet crack. 
And warsle" Time an' lay him on his back ! 

k Perhaps. I Securitr. m Make. n To struggle. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 117 

For us and for our stage should ony spier,* 
' Whase aught thae chielsP maks a' this bustle 
My best leg foremost, I '11 set up my brow, [here?' 
We have the honour to belong to you ! 
We 're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
But like good mithers, shorei before )'ou strike, — ■ 
An' gratefu' still I hope ye '11 ever find us. 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We 've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks : 
God help us ' we 're but poor — ye 'se get but 
thanks. 

PROLOGUE, 

Spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, on New- Year- Day Evening. 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
That queens it o'er our taste — the more 's the pity: 
Tho', by the bye, abroad why will you roam 1 
Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 
But not for panegyric I appear, 
I come to wish you all a good new year ! 
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye. 
Not for to preach, but tell iiis simple story : 
The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, 
' You 're one year older this important day,' 
If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion. 
But 'twould be rude you know, to ask the 

question ; 
And vnih a would-be-roguish leer and wink. 
He bade me on you press this one word — ' think ! 
Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and 

spirit. 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit. 
To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 

Inquire. p Fellows. g To chide. 



118 BURNS' POEMS. 

That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him. 
Yet by the forelock is the hohl to catch him ; 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care! 
To you old Bald-pate smoothes his wrinkled brow, 
Ind humbly begs you '11 mind th' important — now! 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers, bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours ; 
And hov.'soe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 

PROLOGUE, 

Spoken by Mr. Woods, on his Benefit Nig^ht, 
Monday, April 16, 1787. 

When by a generous public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame ; 
When here your favour is the actor's lot, 
Nor even the. man in private life forgot ; 
What breast so dead to heav'nly virtue's glow. 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe 1 
Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddons' power in Southern's song : 
But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 
For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear ! 
Where every science, every nobler art — 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 
Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found. 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream, [beam ; 

Here holds her search, by heaven-taught Reason's 
Here History paints with elegance and force. 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 119 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan. 
And Harley"" rouses all the god in man. 
When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite. 
With manly lore, or female beauty bright 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace. 
Can only charm us in the second place), 
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear. 
As on this night, I 've met these judges here • 
But still the hope Experience taught to live. 
Equal to judge — you 're candid to forgive. 
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 
With decency and law beneath his feet, 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Ereedom's name ; 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame, [hand 

Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land, 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; 
IMay every son be v.'orthy of his sire ; 

Eirm may she rise with generous disdain 

At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain ; 

Still self-dependent in her native shore, 

Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar. 

Till Eate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more. 

TRAGIC ERAGMENT. 

[The following verses were written wlien our Poet was in liis 
eighteenth or nineteenth year. Iti«; an exclamation by a great 
character oa meeting with a cliild of misery.] 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs, 

1 view the helpless children of distress. 
With tears indignant I behold th' oppressor 
Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
Even you, ye helpless crew, 1 pity you ; 

» The Man of Feeling, written by I\Jr. Macl<enzie. 



120 BURNS' POEMS. 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity : 
Ye poor despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds, 
Whom vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin. 
— O, but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 
I had been driven forth like you forlorn, 
The most detested, worthless wretch among you ; 

REMORSE.— A FRAGMENT. 

[These lines were found in a note-book ot the Poet's, 
written in early life.] 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace. 

That press tlie soul, or wring the mind with 

Beyond comparison, the worst are those [anguish, 

'J'hat to our folly or our guilt we owe. 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — ' It was no deed of mine }* 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added — ' Blame thy foolish self,' 

Or, worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt— 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we 've involved others ; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly loved us. 

Nay more, that very love tlieir cause of ruin ! 

O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, 

There *s not a keener lash ! 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And after proper purpose of amendment. 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ? 

O, happy, happy, enviable man ! 

O glorious magnanimity of soul ! 



MISCELLANEOUS 121 

ODE 

On the Birth-day of Prince Charles Edward. 
[Burn* having been present at a meeting held at Edii\burjh, on 
the 31st Dec. 1787, to celebrate the birth-day of tlie unfortunate 
Prince Charles Edward, and being appointed poet-laureate for 
the occasion, he produced an ode, of which an extract is here 
presented to the reader.] 



False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
Nor think to lure us as ia days of yore; 

We solemnize this sorrowing natal day, 
To prove our loyal truth — we can no more , 
And, owning Heaven's mysterious sway. 
Submissive, low, adore. 
Ye honour'd, mighty dead ! 
Who nobly perish'd in the glorious cause. 
Your King, your country, and her laws ! 

From great Dundee, who smiling victory led. 
And fell a martyr in her arms, 
(What breast of northern ice but warms 1) 
To bold Balmerino's undying name. 
Whose soul of fire lighted at heav'n's high flame. 
Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes 
claim. 
Not unreveng'd your fate shall be, 

It only lags the fatal hour ; 
Your blood shall v/ith incessant cry 

Awake at last th' unsparing power. 
As from the clifl", with thund'ring course, 

The snowy ruin smokes along 
With doubling speed and gathering force, 
'Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the 
So vengeance * * ♦ [valo; 

ADDRESS, 

Spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit NigUt, 
Dec. 4, 1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries. 

f TILL anxious to secure your partial favour. 
And not less anxious, sure this night, than ever, 
G 



122 li URNS' POEMS. 

A Prologue, Epilogue, or some sucli matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better 
So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies ; 
Told hixn I came to feast my curious eyes ^ 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
'Ma'am, let me tell you,' quoth my man of 

rhymes, 
' I know your bent — these are no laughing times ; 
Can you — but Miss, I own 1 have my fears, — 
Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears, 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence. 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repentance; 
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand. 
Waving on high the desolating brand. 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land ]' 

I could no more — askance the creature eyeing, 
D 'ye think, said 1, this face was made for crying 1 
I'll laugh, that 's poz — nay more, the world shall 

know it ; 
And so, your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! 

Firm as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief. 
That Misery 's another word for Grief; 
I also think — so may 1 be a bride ! 
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy 'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — • 
To make three guineas do the work of five : 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch ! 
Say, you 'II be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove ; 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — thy 

neck — 
Or, where the beetling clifF o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap 



MISCELLANEOUS. 123 

Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf, 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself; 
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific. 
And love a kinder — that 's your grand specific. 

To sum up all, be merry, 1 advise ; 
And as we 're merry may we still be wise. 

THE IlIGHTS OF WOMAN: 

An Occasional Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her 
Benefit Night. 

While Europe's e3'^e is fix'd on mighty things. 
The fate of empires and tlie fall of kings ; 
While quacks ofstate must each produce his plan, 
And even cliildren lisp the Rights of Mun ; 
Amid tliis mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
The Rights vj Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the sexes' intermix'd connexion, 
One sacred Right of Woman is protection. — 
The tender flower that lifts its head elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate. 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 

Our second Right — but needless here is caution, 
To keep that right inviolate 's the fashion, 
J]ach man of sense has it so full before him, 
He 'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis decorum, — 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough rude man had naughty ways j 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot; 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet — 
Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled, 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred — 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best our 
dearest, — 
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest 



124 BURNS' POEMS. 

Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration I 
In tliat blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life — immortal love. — 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions. 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ; 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah! ca iraJ the Majesty of Woman ! 

VERSES 

Written under the Portrait of Fergusson, tlie Poet, in a copy of 
tliat Author's Works presented to a younij Lady in Edinburgii, 
March 19, 1787. 

CunsE en ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd. 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure ! 

thou my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the muses. 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why io the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yethas so keen a relish of its pleasures 1 

THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife ! 
Who has no will but by her high permission; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell. 
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell.— 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 

1 'd break her spirit, or I 'd break her heart : 
I 'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 

I 'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b — h. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 125 

LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH 
LORD DAER. 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
Sae far I sprachled* up the brae,* 

1 dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

I 've been at drucken \a riters' feasts. 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ;) 
I 've even ioin'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Squireshlps of the quorum. 

Their hydra drouth" did sloken.'* 

But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son. 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ; 
An sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa,'^ 
Our Peerage, he o'erlooks them a' 

As I look o'er my sonnet ! 

But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyarty glow'r. 

And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
When goavan^ as if led wi' branks,* 
An' stumpin' on his ploughman shanks. 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 

To meet good Stuart little pain is. 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes, 

Thinks I, they are but men ! 
But Burns, my Lord — Guid God ! I doited'' 
My knees on ane anither knoited,*^ 

As faultering I gaed ben !<^ 

t Crawled, or clambered on the hands and knees. 

t Hill. u Thirst. w Slacken, or quench. 

jr i. e. He was six feet hi<^h. y Bashful look. 

M Going, or walking. a A kind of wooden curb for horses 

b Was stupified. c Knocked together. 

d Went into the parlour. 



126 BUKiNS' POEMS. 

I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his Lordship steal 't a look 

Like some portentous omen _; 
Except good sense and social glee. 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms of the great. 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

'I'he arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he. 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another; 
Nae honest, worthy man need care. 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 

For he l>ut meets a brother. 

A PRAYER. 

Left ir. a room of a Reverend Friend's* house, where the Atttiioi 

slept. 

O Tiiou, dread Pow'r who reign'st above ! 

I know thou wilt me hear ; 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

* Dr. Laurie, minister of Loudoun, from wliom the poet re- 
ceived many essential favours, one of wluch, and none of the least, 
will be bi'st explained in his own words — ' I had talven the last 
farewell of my few friends — my chest was on the road to Greenock, 
from whence I was to embark in a few days for America. I had 
composed the last song:, I should ever measure in Caledonia. 
The jrloomy ni^ht is gathering fast, when a letter from Dr. 
Blacklock, to a friend of mine, (Dr. Laurie, who had sent to Dr. 
Blacklock a copy of our poet's works) overthrew all mv schemes, 
by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. Tlw doctor 
belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared 
to hope. His opinion that I would n)eet with encouragement in 
Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much, that away 1 

fiosted for that city, without a sin|:le acquaintance, or a single 
etter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long shed 
its blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a revolution to 
the nadir; and a kind providence jJlaced me under thf; patronage 
of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn,' 



MISCELLANEOUS. 127 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ! 

To bless his little filial flock. 
And shew what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth. 

Up to a parent's wish ! 

The beauteous seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears 1 pray. 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide thou their steps alway ! 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in heav'n ' 

A PRAYER, 

Under the pressure of ^^olent Anguish. 

O THOU, great Being ! what thou art 

Surpasses me to know ; 
Yet sure 1 am, that known to Thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands. 

All wretched and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O , free m.y weary eyes from tears ! 

Or close them fast in death ! 



128 BURNS' POEMS. 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolvCfc 

To bear and not repine ! 

A PRAYER, 

In the prospect of Death. 

O THOU, unknown, Almighty cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun , 
As somelliing, loudly, in mj' breast 

Remonstrates I have done: 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 

With passions wild and strong ; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Hast often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside. 
Do Thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art. 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have. 
But, Thou art good ; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene 1 
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 

Some drops of joy with draughts of ill betweeti ; 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing 

Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ; [storms .■ 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 123 

For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms j 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 

And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say. Forgive my foul offence! 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense. 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man : 
Then how should I for heav'niy mercy pray. 
Who act so counter heav'niy mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation 
rani 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea ; 
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine; 
For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be. 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
O, aid me with thy help. Omnipotence Divine i 

THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man in life, wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store. 
Who walks not in the wicked's way. 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow j 

The fruitful top is spread on high. 
And firm the root below. 
G2 



130 BURNS' POEMS. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt. 

Shall to the ground be cast, 
And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For whyl That God, the good adore, 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE 
NINETIETH PSALM. 

O THOU, the first, the greatest Friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right-hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling-place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself. 

Arose at thy command : 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast. 
Appear no more before thy sight 

Than yesterday that 's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : thy creature, man. 

Is to existence brought : 
Again, thou sayest, * Ye sons of men. 

Return ye into nought !' 

Thou layest them, with all then cares, 

In everlasting sleep : 
As with a flood thou t'J« st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 



MISCELLANEOUS. ISl 

They floarish like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All wither'd and decay 'd. 

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O THOU, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, heavenly Guide^ 

May never worse be sent; 
But whether granted or denied, 

Lord, bless us with content. — Amen. 

VERSE 

Written in Friar's-Carse Hermitage on NitlKide. 
Thou whom cliance mo.y hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul ! — 

Life is but a day at inost. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine every hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lowV. 

As youth and love with sprightly dance» 
Beneath thy morning-siar advance, 
Pleasure, with her syren air. 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale 1 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale 1 
Check thy climbing step, elate. 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 



132 BURNS' POEMS. 

Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold 
Soar around each cliffy hold ; 
While cheerful peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among.* 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease. 
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease ; 
There, ruminate with sober thought. 
On all thou 'st seen, and heard, and wrought; 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, 'Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not. Art thou high or low 1 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ] 
Did many talents gild thy span ] 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one?' 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heaven, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, • To be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base.* 

Thus resign'd and quiet creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future life — future no more. 
To light and joy and good restore — 
To light and joy unknown before ! 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide I 
Quoth the Beadsman of Nith-side. 

< See ' Grongar Hill,' a Poem by Dyer. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 133 

WINTER. -A DIRGE. 

The wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest 

And pass the heartless day. 

* The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast/' 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, to nie more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou, Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty schema 

These woes of mine fulfil. 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 

Because they are Thy Will ! 
Then all I want (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny 

Assist me to resign. 

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.-A DIRGE. 

When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare. 
One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

SeemM weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

* And hoary was his hair. 

f Dr. Youn^, 



134 BURNS' POEMS. 

' Young stranger, whither wa-nd'rest thou T 

Began the rev 'rend sage ; 
' Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain. 

Or youthful pleasure's rage I. 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me to mourn 

The miseries of man ! 

* The sun that over-hangs yon moors. 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to supporc 

A haughty lordling's pride ! 
I 've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs 

That man was made to mourn. 

' O man ! while ia thy early years. 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mispending all thy precious hours, 

'J"hy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. 

That man was made to mourn. 

* Look not alone on youthful prime. 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right : 
But see him on the edge of life. 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, oh ! ill-match'J pair I 

Shew man was made to mourn. 

* A few seem favourites of Fate, 

In Pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 
Are likewise truly blest. 



MISCELLANEOUS. |85 

But, oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn. 

That man was made to mourn. 

* Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame J 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ' 

* See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ;? 
And see his lordly felloio-worm 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

* If I 'm design'd yon lordling's slave- 

By Nature's law design'd. 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn 1 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn 1 

* Yet let not this too much, my son. 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human kind 
Is surely not the last / 

g The contrast between his own worldly circumstances and tn- 
teliectual rank, was never perhaps more bitterly nor more loftily 
expressed by our Poet, than in these four lines, and the ftwt 
half of the following; stanza. 



136 BURNS' POEMS. 

The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, beeu born. 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

' O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend ! 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn !'^ 

DESPONDENCY.— AN ODE. 

Oppuess'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

1 sit me down and sigh : 
O Life ! thou art a galling load^ 
Along a rough, a weary road. 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim, backward, as I casr my viev/ 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro*. 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

]Must be my bitter doom ; 

My woes here shall close ne'er. 

But with the closing tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life. 
Who, equal to the bustling strife. 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end 's deny'd. 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd. 

They bring their own reward : 

h In 'Man was made to Mourn,' Burns appears to liave takes 
lany hints from an ancient ballad, entitled ' The Life and Am 
•fMaa.' 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1S7 

Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night. 
And joyless morn the same. 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain j 
I listless, yet restless. 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot ! 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. 

Within his humble cell. 
The cavern wild, with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought. 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heav'n on high. 
As waud'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd. 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And just to stop andju.sf to move. 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys. 

Which I too keenly taste. 
The Solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst I here, must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 



138 BURNS' POEMS. 

Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maaOj 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. 

Like linnets in the bush. 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim declining age '. 

TO RUIN. 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
Yor one has cut my dearest tie. 
And quivers m my heart. 
Then low'ring and pouring. 

The storm no more I dread •, 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning, 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou, grim Pow'r, by life abhorr'd 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink, appall'd, afraid 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. igg 

When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign lik's joyless day ; 
My weary heart its throbbing cease, 
Cold mould'ring in the clay 1 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face ; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace' 

A WINTER NIGHT. 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide tlie pelting- of this pitytess storm ! 
How sliall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd raffgedness, defend you 
rrom seasons such as these >.—S/iahspeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure,' 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r'' 

Far south the lift,' 
Dim dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirliu' drift : 
Ae™ night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns," wi'snawy wreaths up-chocked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, ° 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked,? 

Down headlong hurl. 
List'ning the doors and winnocksi rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie'' cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing^ sprattle. 

Beneath a scar.' 
Ilk happing" bird, wee, helpless thing. 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 

i Sullen. h Glimmer. I The Sky. m One. n Rifule*. 

Cune. p Gushed. g Windows. r Sliivering. 

* J^aoing-, and sinkin°r in snow, or mud. 

t A cliff, or precipice. u Each hopping. 



140 BURNS' POEMS. 

Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee 1 

Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chitt'ring vung, 
And close thy e'e? 

E'en you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 
Lone, from your savage homes exil'd, 
Theblood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

JMy heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark, muffled, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain. 

Slow, solemn, stole — 

* Blow, blow ye winds with heavier gust! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
Vengeful malice, unrepenting, [bestowal 

Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man 

* See stern oppression's iron grip. 

Or mad ambition's gory liand. 
Sending, like bloodhounds from the slip, 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 

* E'en in the peaceful rural vale. 
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale. 

How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side, 
The parasite empoisoning her ear. 
With all the servile wretches in the rear, 

Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ; 
And eyes the simple rustic hind, 
Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
A creature of another kind, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 141 

Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below. 

* Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
With lordly Honour's lofty brow. 

The pow'rs you proudly own 1 
Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone ! 
Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

To love-pretending snares. 
This boasted Honour turns away. 
Shunning- soft Pity's rising sway, [piayers! 

Regardless of her tears, and unavailing 
Perhaps, this hour, in misery's squalid nest, 
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking 
blast ! 

* O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down. 
Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
Think for a moment on his wretched fate. 

Whom friends and fortune quite disown ' 
Ill-satisfy 'd keen nature's clam'rous call, 

Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 

' Think on the dungeon's grim confine. 
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! 
Guilt, erring man, relenting, view. 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' 

I heard nae mair, for chanticleer 
Shook off the pouthery snaw,* 

w Flaky snow. 



142 BURNS' POEMS. 

And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind- 
Thro' all his works abroad, 

The heart, benevolent and kind, 
The most resembles Uod. 



THE LAMENT, 

Occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a Friend s AmoWt 

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 

And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe '—Home. 

THOU pale orb, that silent shines. 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With .woe I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath thy wan unwai-ming beam; 

And mourn in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For'' ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains. 

My sad love-lorn lamentings claim: 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame: 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested Powers above ; 
The promis'd father's tender name — 

These were the pledges of my love I 



MISCELLANEOUS. 143 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments fiown 
IIow have I wish'd for Fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
And must I think it ! Is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast 1 
And does she heedless hear my groan 1 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

! can she be>r so base a heart 
So lost to honour, lost to truth, 

As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 

Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her vi^ay may lie through rough distress ! 

Then, who her pangs and pains will soothcs 
Her sorrows share, and make them less 1 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy 'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast. 

My fondly treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy 'd. 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 
Awakes me up to toil and woe : 

1 see the hours in long array. 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wing my soul, ere Phoebus, low. 

Shall kiss the distant western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try. 
Sore harass'd out with care and grief. 

My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 
Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 



144 BURNS' POEMS. 

Or, if I slumber, Fancy, chief. 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 

Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief 
From such a horror-breathing night ! 

O thou bright queen, who o'er the expanse 

Now highest reign 'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away. 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 

To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if, in stupor, I forget. 

Again I feel, again 1 burn : 
From every joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro'; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithl^ woman's broken vow." 

LAMENT,y 

Written when the Author was about to leave his native country. 

O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain 
straying, 
Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave. 
What woes wring my heart while intently sur- 
veying [wave. 
The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the 

Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail. 

Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore ; 

Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's 
green vale. 
The pride o' my bosom, my Mary's no more. 

* A tletajl of the circumstance on whicli this affectiiiG: Poem 
was composed will be found in Lockliart's Life of the Poet, p. 85. 

V First published in the Dumfries Weekly Jourmil, July 5th, 
1816. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 145 

No more by the banks of the streamlet we 'II 

wander, [wave ; 

And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the 

No more shall my arms cling with fondness around 

her ^ [grave. 

For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her 

No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my 
breast, 

I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 
Where, unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, 

And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 

LAMENT, 

FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIUN. ' 

The wind blew hollow frae^ the hills, («5 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream . 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, "■ 

Laden with years and meikle* pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord. 

Whom death had all untimely taen.'^ 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,<^ 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years , 
His locks were bleached white wi' time. 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ! 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp. 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang. 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

* Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing. 

The reliques of the vernal choir ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 

X From. a Much. b Taken. c Oak. 



146 BURNS' FOEMS. 

A few short months, and glad and gay. 

Again ye '11 charm the ear and e'e. 
But nocht^ in all revolving time 
Can gladness bring again to me. 

I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hald^ of earth is gane . 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers plant them in my room. 

* I 've seen sae monie changefu' years. 

On earth 1 am a stranger grown ; 
I wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknowing and unknown : 
Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent, low, on beds of dust. 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

' And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country's stay: 
In weary being now I pine, 

FoT a the life of life is dead. 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

* Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
Awake ! resound thy latest lay. 

Then sleep in silence evermair 1 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fillest an untimely tomb, 

d Nought. « Hold. 



^ 



MISCELLANEOUS. 14/ 

Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest' gloom* 

* In poverty's low barren vale. 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round; 
Tho' oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me like the morning sun 

That melts tlie fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless Bard and rustic song. 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

* Oh ! why has worth so short a date 1 

While villains ripen grey with time! 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ? 
Why did I live to see that day? ^ 

A day to me so full of woe ! '" 

Oh ! had 1 met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

' The bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee , 
But I '11 remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me '.'S 

LINES 

Sent to Sir John Wliitefooid, of Wliitefoord, Bart., 
with the foreijoinj Poem. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st. 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, noaght earthly 
To thee this votive offering I impart, [fear'st. 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The friend thou valued'st, I the patron lov'd; 
His worth, his honour, all the world appror'd. 

f Darker U f See Note, page I2S. 



148 BURNS' POf:MS. 

We *11 mourn till we too go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world 
unknown. 

LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

On the approach of Sprinsf. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree. 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams. 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nocht can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry mom, 

A loft on dewy wing ; 
The merle,'' in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis' mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn 's budding in the glen. 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun'' lie in prison Strang.' 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu'™ lightly raise I in the morn. 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 

h The Btackbird. i The Thrush. k Must. 

i Strong. m Full. 



MISCELLANEOUS. Uq 

And I 'm the Sov'reign of Scotland, 

And monie a traitor there : 
Yet h-ere I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and nny fae. 
Grim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That through thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that drops on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign. 

That ne'er wad blink" on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend. 

Remember him for me ! 

Oh ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair® light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flovvr'rs that deck the spring. 

Bloom on my peaceful grave! 

n Would shlnr>. o No monu 



160 BURNS' POEMS. 

EPISTLES. 
EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH.? 

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul ! 
Sweet'nerof life, and soldtr of society! 
I owe thee nuicli. Blair. 

Dear Smith, the sleestji pawkie*" thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,* 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre humar^ hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief" 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun and moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye 've cost me twenty pair o* shoon 

Just gaun to see you j 
And ev'ry ither pair that 's done, 

JMair taen"-^ 1 'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin'* Nature, 
To mak amends for scrim pity stature. 
She 's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan. 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature. 

She 's wrote ' the man. 

Just now I 've taen the fit o' rhyme. 
My barmy^ noddJe 's working prime. 
My fancy yerkit* up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what 's comin' 1 

Wp Then a shopkeeper in Maucliline. He afterward went to Ui 
est Indies, where he died. 

q f ronaiinced slet-est, slyest. r Cunning. 

s Plunder. t Wizard-spell. u Proof. 

V More delighted. x A stout old woman. y Scanty. 

X Like barm, or yeast. a Jerked, lashed. 



EPISTLES. , 151 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash j 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash,*' 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash l^ 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat. 

An' damn^ my fortune to the groat f 

But, in requit. 
Has bless'd me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion 's taen a sklent,*^ 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
But still the mair 1 'm that way bent, 

Something cries — ' Hoolie '* 
I red^ you, honest man, tak tent ! • 

Ye '11 shaw your folly. 

' There 's itlier poets, much your betters. 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tetters 

Their unknown pages.* 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs. 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth 1 '11 rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
And teach the lanely heights an' howes'' 

My rustic sang. 

I '11 wander on wi' tentless' heed 
How never-halting moments speed. 

Country talk. r/ To care for. e Uoomcd me to poverty. 

f -Vslaiit. g- Take time and consider. A Counsel. 

Take neai'.. k lioUows, or dales. / ThoiightlcM. 



152 BURNS' POEMS 

Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I *11 lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 

Just now we 're living, sound, and hale. 

Then top and main-top crowd the sail. 

Heave care owre-side ! 
And large, before enjoyment's gale. 

Let 's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far 's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted, fairy land. 
Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance™ that five-an'-forty s speel'd," 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild,° 

\Vi' wrinkled face, 
Come hostin',P hirplin',1' owre the field, 

Wi' creepin' pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin** 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin' ; 
An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin'. 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel, dear, deluding woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning. 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys at th' expected warning. 

To joy and play. 

m Once. n To climb. o Old ajpc. 

|) Coughing. q Hobbling:. r Twilight. 



EPISTLES. 163 

We wander there, we wander here. 
We eye the rose upon the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near 

Amang the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear. 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ;• 
They drink the sweet, and eat the fat. 

But* care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim some fortune chase ; 
Keen Hope does every sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro* foul, they urge the race. 

And seize the prey ; 
Then cannie," in some cozie^ place. 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin*. 
To right or left, eternal svvervin', 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin'. 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining .• 
Is Fortune's fickle tuna vvainlng? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining 

Let 's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door. 
And kneel, * Ye Powers !' and warm implore, 
* Tho* I should wander terra o'er. 
In all her climes, 

Did iweat. t Without u Dexterously. to Snuff 
H 2 



154 BURNS' POEMS. 

Grant me but this, I ask no more. 

Ay rowth'^ o' rhymes. 

* Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds. 
Till icicles hang frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claesy to fine life-guards. 

And maids of honour : 
And yill'^ an' whisky gie to cairds,* 

Until they sconner.** 

* A title, Dempster^ merits it ; 
A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 
In cent, per cent. ; 

But gie me real, sterling wit. 

And I 'm content. 

* AVhile ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
I'll sit dov/n o'er my scanty meal. 

Be 't water-brose'^ or muslin-kail,® 
Wi' cheerfu' face. 

As lang 's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace.' 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk*' beneath misfortune's blows 

As weel 's I may ; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douces folk that live by rule. 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compar'd wi* you — fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool. 

Your lives, a dyke ! 

* Plenty. y Clothes. z Ale. a Tiiikert. 

b Loathe it. c George Dempster, Esq. of Dunnichea 

d Made of meal and water only. 

c Broth, composed of water, shelled barley, and green*. 

/To stoop. s Wise. 



EPISTLES. 15S 

Nae hair-braiu'd, sentimental traces 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 
Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye 're vi'ise ; 
Nae ferly"^ tho' you do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam' boys, 

The rattlin' squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road. — 
Whilst I — but I shall baud me there — 
VVi' you I '11 scarce gang onie where — 
Then Jamie, I shall say nae mair 

But quit my sang. 
Content wi' you to make a pair, 

Whare'er 1 gang. 

TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 

An old ScottiBh Card. 

April 1, I7b5. 

While briars an' woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks'' scraichin' loud at e'en, 
An' morning pousie' whiddin'™ seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 
On Fasten-e'en" we had a rockin',"* 
To ca' the crackP and weave the stockin* ; 

A With contempt. t Thoug:htless.. k Partridgres. 

I A hare. m Running as a hare does. n Fastens-even. 

o This is a term derived from those primitive times, when the 
country women employed their leisure hours in spinning- on the 
rock or distaff. This instrument being very portable, was well 
fitted to accompany its owner to a neighbour's house ; hence the 
phrase of going a rocking, or tcith the rock. The connexion, 
however, which the phrase had with the implement was forgotte.n 
after the rock gave place to the spinning wheel, and men talked 
of going a-rockiner as well as women. It was at one of these 
rocKin^s, or social parties, that Mr. Lapraik's song was sung. 
Burns being informed who was the author, wrote his first epistle 
to Lapraik ; and his second in reply to his answer. 

p To call upon some one in the company for a sonj or a story 



156 BURNS' POEMS. 

And there was muckle fun an' jockin'. 
Ye need na doubt j 

At length we had a hearty yokin' 
At sang about. 

There was ae sang,i amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best. 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I 've scarce heard aught describes sae wee.. 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel : 
Thought I, ' Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark '' 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel'" 

About Muirkirk. 

q The song here alluded to was written by Mr. Lapialk aftei 
■ustaining a considerable pecuniary loss. In conseaueuce of sorae 
connexion as security for several persons concerned in the failure 
of the Ayr bank, he was oblig-ed to sell his farm of Dalfram, near 
Muirkirk. One day, while his wife was fretting over their misfor- 
tunes, he composed it witli a view to moderate her grief ami for- 
tify her resignation. It is as follows : 

When I upon thy bosom lean, 

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, 
I glory in the sacred ties 

That made us ane, wha ance were twain : 
A mutual flame inspires us baith, 

The tender look, the melting kiss: 
Even years shall ne'er destroy'our love 
But only gic us change o' bliss. 

Hae I a wish ] it's a' for thee ; 

I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
Our moments pass sae smooth away. 

That numbers on us look and gaze ; 
Weel pleas'd they see our happy days, 

Nor Envy's sel finds aught to blame; 
And ay when weary cares arise. 

Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 

I '11 lay me there, and take my rest, 

And'if that aught disturb my dear, 
I'll bid her laugh her cares away, 

At\d beg her not to drap a tear : 
Hae I a joy ! it 's a' her ain ; 

United still her heart and mine; 
They're like the woodbine round the tree. 

That 's twin'd till death shall them disjoin^ 
r A droll, g-ood fellow. 



EPISTLES. 157 

It pat me fidgm'-fain's to hear 't, 
And sae about him there I spier't ;* 
Then a' that kent him round declar'd 

He had ingine," 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near 't. 

It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale. 

An' either douce,^'' or merry tale. 

Or rhymes an' sangs he 'd made himse?. 

Or witty catches, 
Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith. 

The' I should pawn my pleugh and graith," 

Or die a cadger-pownie'sy death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I 'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack." 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell 
I to the crambo-jingle* fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning'' to a body's sel. 

Does weel enough. 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer, like, by chance, 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, * How can you e'er propose, 

s Very anxious. i Inquired. 

« Possessed of wit and gening. w Serious. 

Furniture. y A carrier'* poney. 2 Converec 

a Rhyming. A Humming. 



158 BURNS' POEMS. 

You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang V 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're may be wrang. 

What 's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns and stools , 
If honest Nature made you fools. 

What sairs^ your grammars? 
Ye 'd better taen up spades and shools. 

Or knappin'-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes,"^ 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks,^ and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek! 
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire. 
That 's a' the learning 1 desire ; 
Then tho' 1 drudge thro' dub» and rnire. 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tho' hamely in attire. 

May touch the heart 

O for a spunk o' Allan's glee^ 

Or Fergusson's, tlie bauld and slee,** 

Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be leai' enough for me, 

If I could get it. 
Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few. 
Yet if your catalogue be fu','' 

1 'se no insist. 
But gif ye want a friend that 's true, 

I 'm on your list. 

c Senes, what ser\-ice. 
d Stjpid fellows, who know neither how to dress, or to behave 
With propriety. e Large calves. / Then. 

g A pond. h Sly. i Learning. * Full. 



EPISTLES I 

1 winna blaw' about, mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 
But friends, and folk that wisli me well, 

They sometimes roose™ me, 
Tho' I maun own, as monie still 

As sair" abuse me. 

There 's n wee faut" they whiles lay to me, 

1 like the^ i.xsses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack? they wheedle frae me ! 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me. 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair ; 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We 'se gie a night's discharge to care. 

If we forgather,i 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap,"" we'se gar* him clatter, 

An' kirsen^ him wi' reeking water ; 

Syne" we '11 sit down an' tak our whitter," 

To cheer our lieart ; 
An' faith we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

There 's naething like the honest nappy ! 
Whaur '11 ye e'er see men sae happy. 
Or women sonsie, saft an' sappy. 

'Tween morn an' morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn 1 

I 've seen me daez't* upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 

Will not boast. m Praise me. n Sore. o One small fan 

p An old Scotch coin, the third part of a Scotch penny. 

(I Meet. 

/ A pot or measure, in which whisky or other spirits was sen 

«t to customers at ale-houses. 4 Make. < To christei. 

« Then. w A hearty draught of liquor. * Stupid. 



160 BURNS' PCEMS. 

Just ae half muchkin does me prime, 
Ought less is little, 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As gleg 's a whittle ! 

Awa' ye selfish, warlyy race, 

Wha think that havins/ sense, an' grace, 

Ev'n love an* friendship should give place 

To catch the plack !* 
I dinna like to see your face 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms. 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms 
Who hold your being on the terms — 

' Each aid the others !' 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But to conclude my lang eprstle, 

As my auld pen 's worn to the grissle ; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,** 

Who am most fervent, 
While I can either sing or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 

TO THE SAME. 

April 21, 17U. 

While new-ca'd kye*^ rout at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,«» 
This hour, on e'enin's edge, I take, 

To own I 'm debtor 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket^ sair, with weary legs, 
Raltlin' the corn out-owre the rigs, 

y Worldly. 2 GooJ manners. a To get money. b Bu8Ue» 

c Cows having newly calved. tl A kind of harrow* 

e Jaded with fatigue. 



El'lSll^ES. 16J 

Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours^ bite, 
My awkwart JVIuse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 

The tapetless? ramfeezl'd'' hizzie, 

She 's saft at best, and something lazy, 

Quo' she, * Ye ken we 've been sae busy, 

This month an' mair. 
That trouth my head is grown right dizzie. 

An' something sair.' 

Her dowfF' excuses pat me mad : 

* Conscience,' says I, ' ye thowless jad! 
I '11 write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

I'his vera night ; ^ 
So dinna ye aftront your trade. 

But rhyme it right. 

* Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack of cartes, 
Roose'' you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly. 
Yet ye '11 neglect to shaw your parts, 
An' thank him kindly !' 

Sae I gat paper in a blink. 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink ; 

Quoth I, * Before 1 sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it; 
An' if you winna mak it clink, 

By Jove I '11 prose it !' 

Sae I Ve begun to scrawl, but whether 

In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither, 

Or some hotch-potch that 's rightly neither, 

/A slight bate given to horses in the forenoon, while la the 
yoke. g Foolish. h Fatigued. 

i PithleM, wanting force. ft Praise, commend. 



IG2 BURNS' POEMS. 

Let time male proof ; 
But 1 shall scribble down some blether* 

Just clean afF-loof.™ 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an* carp. 
The' Fortune use you hard and sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and warp j 

She's but a bitch. 

She 's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 
Sin' I could striddle" owre a rig ;<* 
But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow,P 
I '11 laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg 

As lang 's I dow Ii 

Now comes the sax-an'-twentleth simmer 
I 've seen the bud upo' the timmer,'" 
Still persecuted by the limmer* 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,* 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city gent., 

Behint a kist" to lie and sklent,* 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame,* 
In some bit burghy to represent 

A bailie's name 1 

Or, is 't the paughty, feudal thane, 
Wi' ruffled sark^ an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himself nae sheep-shank bane,* 

{ Nonsense. m Unpremeditated, off-hand. 

n Straddle. o Ridge. p With gray hairg. 

q Can. r Tree. s Kept mistress. 

t Skittish g^rl. M Sliop counter. 

tc To look sideways, and cunning. x Large belly. 

y Small borough- z Shirt. a No mean personage. 



EPISTLES. loa 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets afF are taen, 
As by he walks ] 

* O Thou, wha gies us each good gift .' 
Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

In a' their pride !' 

Were this the charter of our state — 

* On pain of hell be rich and great j* 
Damnation then would be our fate. 

Beyond remead ;•» 
But, thanks to Heav'n ! that 's no the gate* 
We learn our creed : — 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began— 

* The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 
An' none but he.' 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shme 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of Mammon's hne 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, 
Their worthless nievefu''^ of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright j 
Or in some day-detesting owl. 

May shun the light. 

I Remedr. c The way. d KandfuL 



IQi BURNS' POEMS. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, ^ 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 

in some mild sphere. 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 

TO THE SAME. 

Sept. laih, i?8i 
GuiD speed an' furder to you Johnie, 
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonnie; 
Now when ye 're nickan^ down fu' cannie'' 

The staff o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoop^ o' brany 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles afF their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs** 

Like drivin wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grara that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I 'm bizzie* too, an' skelpin''' at it, 
But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 
Sae my auld stumpis pen I gat it, 

Wi' muckle wark. 
An' took my jocteleg' an' whatt™ it, 

Like ony clerk. 

It 's now twa month that I 'm your debtor. 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men. 
While deil a hair yoursel ye 're better, 

But mair profane. 

e Cutting. 

/ Dexterous. g Jug or dish with a handle. 

h Scars or giilfs in mosses. i Busy. 

h Driving or pressing forward. I A kind of knife. 

m To polish by cutting^. 



EPISTLES. 165 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let 's sing about our noble sels ; 
We '11 cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us. 
But browster wives and whiskie stills, 

They are the muses. 

Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat" it. 

An' if ye mak objections at it, 

Then han' in nieve" some day we '11 knot it. 

An' witness take. 
An' when wi usquabae we 've wat it 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branksP be spai-'d 
Till kyei be gaxm'" without the herd. 
An' a* the vittel in the yard. 

An' theckit» right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitaj 

Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty. 

Till ye forget ye 're auld an' gatty,* 

An' be as canty," 
As ye were nine years less than thretty. 

Sweet ane an' twenty ! 

But stooks" are cowpef^ wi' the blast. 
An' now the sun keeksy in the west, 
Then I mauiv rin^ amang the rest 

An' quat my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste. 

Yours, Rab the Ranter. 



n Quit. Hand in hand. 

f A kind of wooden curb. q Cows. r Going. s Tiiatchedi 

t Infirm. u Merry. w Shoclis of corn. x UpseU 

y Peeps. z Must run. 



166 BURNS* POExMS. 

EPISTLE TO DAVIE,« 

A Brother Poet. Jan. — — 

While winds frae aff Ben- Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing** us owre the ingle,*^ 
I set me down to pass the time. 
And spm a verse or twa o' rhyme. 

In hamely westlin'*' jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug,^ 
I grudge a wee tlie great folks' gift. 
That live sae bien^ and snug : 
I tents less, and want less 

Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker. 
To see their cursed pride. 

It 's hardly in a body's pow'r 
To keep, at times, frae being sour. 
To see how tilings are shared ; 
How best o' chielsh are whiles in want 
While coofs' on countless thousands rant. 

And ken na how to wair 't :^ 
But Davie, lad, ne'er fash' your head 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We 're fit to win our daily bread 
As lang 's we 'r^ hale and fier :™ 
* Mair spier" na, nor fear na','* 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg.P 
The last o 't, the warst o 't. 
Is only for to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en. 

When banes are craz'd and bluid is thm. 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 

a David Sillar. author of a volume of Poems in the Scottuh 
illaler.t. b Han?. c Fire-place. 

d West country. e The fire-side. /In plenty. 

fUefcd. A Best of men. t Blockheads. A To spend it. 
Trouble. m Sound. n More ask not. o Ramsay, p Fig. 



EPISTLES. IGi 

Yet then content could make us blest : 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we 'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that 's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kick'd the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you '11 find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we '11 care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air. 
We wander out, we know not where, 

Buti either house or hal' 1 
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and wooda. 
The sweeping vales and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound. 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then. 

We'll sit an' sowth"^ a tune ; 
Syne» rhyme till 't,* we '11 time till't, 
And sing 't when we hae done. 

It 's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It 's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It 's no in makin' muckle mair ;" 
It 's no in books ; it 's no in lear 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast. 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 

But never can be blest : 

H Without. r Hum, or wWstle- ___ 

• Then. < To It. « Mach MOI«» 



168 BURNS' POEMS. 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang ; 

The heart ay 's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that 's good. 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell.' 
Esteeming and deeming 
It 's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our stale ; 
And even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some. 

An' 's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit o' age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth. 
The real good and ill. 
Tho' losses and crosses 

Be lessons right severe, 
There 's wit there, ye '11 get there. 
Ye '11 find nae other where. 
But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. 

And flattery I detest), 
Thib life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; 



EPISTLES. ICQ 

And joys the very best. 
There *s a* the Pleasures o' the heart. 

The lover an the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part. 
And I, my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me. 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets^^ me. 
And sets me a' on flame .' 
O all ye pow'rs who rule above I 
O Thou, whose very self art love ' 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart. 
Or my more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest. 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, all-seeing, 

O hear n\y fervent pray'r , 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 
All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long since, this world's thorny way8 
H^d u umber 'd out my weary days. 

Had it not been for j^ou ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend. 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still : 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific'^ scene. 
To meet with and greet with. 
My Davie or my Jean. 
w Adds fuel to fire. x Dark, gloonyr 



170 BURNS' POEMS. 

O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin'y rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine. 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin'^ o'er my pen. 
My spaviet* Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he 's fairly het ;•» 
And then he '11 hilch,^ and stilt,*^ and jimp," 
An' rin an unco fit:*" 

But lest then, the beast then 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
1 '11 light now, and dight now, 
His sweaty, wizen'ds hide. 

TO THE SAME.h 

AULD NeEBOR, 

I *M three times doubly o'er your debtor. 
For your auld-farrant,' frien'ly letter -, 
Tho' I maun say 't, 1 doubt ye flatter. 

Ye speak sae fair ; 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatttr, 

Some less maun sair."^ 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck' jink'" an' diddle 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns bairns" kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But, Da\.e, lad, J. 'm red" ye 're glaikit ;P 
I 'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 

y Tripping. z Lookins?. a Having: the Spawn. 

b Heated. c Hobble. d Limp, or lialt. 

eJump. /Go speedily. g- Sliruiik, hide-bound. 

h This is prefixed to the poems of David Siliur, published at 

Kilmarnock, 1789. t Sajjacious. /i Must serve. 

i Elbow. TO Asudden turnius:. ?i Cliildren's children. 

Informed. p Inattentive, foolish. 



EPISTLES. m 

An' gif*i it 's sae, ye sud"" be licket« 

Until ye fyke ;' 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit," 

Be hain't^ wha like. 

For me, I 'm on Parnassus' brink, 
R=vin' the word,; to gar them clink ;^ ^ 
Whyles dais't" wi' love,whyles dais't wi' drink, 

Wi' jadsy or masons ; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, 1 think 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan , 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin' clink, 
The devil-haet,* that 1 sud ban,» 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', 
Nae cares to gie us ioy or grievin' ; 
But just the pouchie** put the nieve^ m, 

An' while ought 's there. 
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin',^ 

An' fash nae mair.^ 

Leeze me' on rhyme ! it 's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
At hame, a-fiei',S at wark or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzle ! 
Though rough an' raploch^ be her measure, 

She 's seldom lazy. 

Hand' to the Muse, my dainty Davie ; 
The warl' may play you monie a shavie ; 

a If. 1- Sliould. « Licked, beaten. t Become ap^italed. 

' • u Such hands as you should ne'er be unknoNvn. 
a Spared, or excused. x Sometimes stumfied. 5^,;;°'"^" 
2 -11.4 devil forbid. a Swear. h Vouch, or P"^^f ' „ 

C TUt hand. d Dashing away. e Care for «»th.n^ men. 

/A phrase of endearment. g In the held. A Coarse. 

•' "^ i Hold. 



172 BURNS' POEMS. 

But for the Muse, she '11 never leave ye, 
Tho' e'er sae puir, 

Na, even tho limpin' wi' the spavie'' 
Frae door to door. 

TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, 

With a Portrait of tlie Author. 

Edinburgh, 1787. 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, [heart, 

A name, which to love was the mark of a true 
But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Tho* something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son. 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily 
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry, [join. 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; 
Their title 's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss. 



But loyalty, truce ! we 're on dangerous ground. 
Who knows how the fashions may alter 1 

The doctrine to-day that is loyalty sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter 

h Spavin. 



EPISTLES. 173 

I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of respect ; 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye. 

And ushers the long dreary night : 
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the latest is bright. 

TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, OCHILTREE. 

May, 1785. 

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie j 
Tho' I maun say 't, I wad be silly, 

And unco vain. 
Should I believe, my coaxing billie. 

Your flatt'rin' strain. 

But I 'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud' be laith™ to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins" sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phrasin'" terms ye 've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel,P 
Should I but dare a hope to speel,l 
Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel ; 

A deathless name ' 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane*" hearts. 

Ye E'nburgh^ gentry ! 
The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes,* 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

t Should. m Loth. n Sidelong^. o Flatterlngp. 

p A fish-basket. i) To climb. r A hard rocky stone. 

s Edinburgh. t Cards. 



174 BURNS' POEMS. 

Yet when a ^nle comes i' my head 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed," 

As whyles they 're like to be my dead," 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila'' now may fidge fu' fain.T 

She 's gotten Poets o her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters^ winna hain,» 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise, 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while. 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of-isle, 

Beside New-Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay and famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit'' to mine. 

An' cock your crest. 
We '11 gar*^ our streams and burnies'* shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We '11 sing auld Coila's plains and fells,® 
Her moors red brown wi' heather bells. 



w To be my death. x From Kyle, a district of Ayrshire 

y Manifest strong symptoms of pleasure, or delight. 
Z Part of a bagpipe. a Spare. b Foot. c Make* 

d Rivers and brooks e Fields. 



EPISTLES. 175 

Her banks an braes, her dens an' dells. 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree/ as story tells, 

Frae Southron billies.? 

At Wallace, name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,** 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O sweet are Coila's liaughs* an' woods. 
When lintwhites'' chant amang the buds, 
And jinking hares, in amorous whids,' 

Their loves enjoy. 
While thro' the braes the cushat creeds"' 

Wi' wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blindmg drifts wdd furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature . a' thy shows an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms. 
Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' life an' light. 
Or winter hov.ds, in gusty storms. 

The lang, diark night ' 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand° her. 
Till by himsel' he learn 'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

/ Obtained the victory. 
g Enn;iishmen. h To walk in blood over the shoe-tops, 

i Valleys. k Linnets. 

I The motion of a hare in running, when not frightened. 

m The dove coos. n Found. 



176 BURNS' POEMS. 

And no think lang ; * 
O sweet to stray and pensive ponder 
A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive 
Hog-shouther,P jundie.i stretch an' strive. 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive/ 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum* owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, * my rhyme-composing brither !' 
We 've been owre lang unkenn'd' to ither • 
Now let us lay our heads thegither. 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether," 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies ;* 
While ttrrafirma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice. 

In Robert Burns. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory 's no worth a preen ;* 

I had amaist forgotten clean, 

You bade me write you what they mean 

By this new-light,y 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

o And not think the time Ion"-, or be weary. 

p Justle with the shoulder. <? Justle. r Describe 

* To hum. t Unknown to each other 

M Struggle as an animal, whose tether gets entangled. 

w Morbid sheep. x A pin. 

ff New-light, a cant phrase in the west of Scotland for thosa 
igious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Norwich defended sostre- 
naously 



EPISTLES. 177 

In days when mankind were but callans* 

At grammar, logic, and sic talents. 

They took nae pains their speech to balance. 

Or rules to gie. 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans*, 

Like you or me. 

In thae'' auld times they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark,*^ or pair o' shoon. 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon,^ 

Gaed past their viewin', 
An' shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed, 

It ne'er came i' their heads to doubt it. 

Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrangj 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk," 
Wad threap*" auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk,» 

An' out o' sight. 
An' backlins-comin** to the leuk. 

She grew mair bright. 

This was denied — it was affirm'd - 

The herds and hissels' were alarm'd ; 

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 

Frae words an' aiths to clours'' an' nicks ; 

zBoys. a The Seottlsh dialect. 6 These. c A shirt 
d A shred. e Hook. / Maintain by dint of assertion. 

p Comer. 

A Returning i So many cattle as one pcrsoa can stcend. 

ft A wound occasioned by a blow. 

12 



178 BURNS' POEMS. 

And mouie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ;' 

An' some to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt." 

I nis game was play'd in monie lands, 
^^n' auld-light caddies" bure** sic hands. 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
The lairds forbade, by strict command, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe,P 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick- an'-stowe,' 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe,' 

Ye '11 find ane plac'd ; 
An' some their new-light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin* j 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an'sweatin'; 
Mysel, I 've even seen them greetin'* 

Wi' girnin* spite. 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 

By word an' write." 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ' 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towna 
Are mind 't, in things they ca' balloons 

To tak a flight. 
And stay ae month amang the moons 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 

An' when the auld-moon's gaen to lea'e them, 

I A blow on the head with a cudgel. m Burnt. 

» Literally ticket-porters, or trusty persons who are employed 
on errands, but tlie appellation is frequently used in a more gene- 
ral wav, and applied to other persons. 

o Did bear. p A fright or beating'. <? Altogether, 

r Hillock. s Weeping. < With rare, or agony of spirit 

M Both in conversation and book*. 



EPISTLES. 179 

The hindmost shaird,^ they '11 fetch it wi' them, 
Just i' their pouch, 

An' when the new-light billies* see them, 
I think they '11 crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething- but a moonshine matter ; 
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie.y 
I hope we bardies ken some better. 

Than mind sic brulzie.* 

TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 

On the publication of liis Essays. 
O GouDiE ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats an' rev'rend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin* looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin''^ Superstition, 
Waes me ! she 's in a sad condition ; 
Fie ! bring Black Jock her state physician 

To see her water ! 
Alas ! there 's ground o' great suspicion 

She '11 ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple. 
But now she 's got an unco ripple,*^ 
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel,^ 

Nigh unto death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple, 

An' gasps for breath. 

Enthusiasm 's past redemption, 

w A shred. j: Brethren. y To quarrel. 

2 A broil. II Twisting' the fwitiires in agony. 

b Staring. c Great weakness in the buck, or loins. 

d That the prayers of the congrc'jatiou niaj be offered up in bet 
)eha'.f. 



180 BURNS' POEMS. 

Gaen^ in a gallopplng consumption. 
Not a' the quacks wi' a' their gumption/ 

Will ever mend her, 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, 

Death soon will end her. 
'Tis you and Taylorff are the chief 
Wha are to blame for this m.ischief ; 
But gin** the Lord's ain focks' gat leave, 

A toom'' tar-barrel 
And twa red peats' wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel. 

TO J. RANKINE, 

Enclosing: some Poems. 

ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 
The wale"^ o' cocks for fun and drinkin' ! 
There 's monie godly folks are thinkin'. 

Your dreams" an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin', 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks" an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants. 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou ;P 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants. 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 

Spare 't for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black ; 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives 't 1 afF their back. 

« Going. /Skill. g^ Dr. Taylor of Norwich. 

k If, against. i Folk, people. k Empty. 

1 Two red-hot turfs, such ag are used for fuel. m Choice. 

n A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in 
the country-side. o Conversation. 

p Make them drunk. q Rends. 



EPISTLES. 181 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye 're skaithing,' 
It 's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O' saunts,« tak that, ye la'e' them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae onie unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I 've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain 'd for, an' mair: 
Sae, when you hae an hour to spare, 

1 will expect 
Yon sang," ye '11 sen 't wi' cannie* care. 

And no neglect. 
Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow'' scarcely spread her wing ! 
I 've play'd mysel a bonnie spring,? 

An' danc'd my fill j 
I 'd better gaen an' sair'd'' the king 

At Bunker's Hill. 
*Twas ae night, lately, m my fun, 
I gaed a-roving wi' the gun, 
An' brought a paitrick* to the grun',** 

A bonnie hen. 
An' as the twilight was begun. 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ', 

I straiket'' it a wee for sport. 

Ne'er thinkin' they wad fash<^ me for't ; 

But deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The halee affair 

Some auld-us'd hands had taen a note. 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 

r Injuring. f Saints. t Leave. 

u Ason^ he had promised the Author. w Dexterous. 
X Can, or dare. 
/ A ScotUsh reel. z Served. a A partridge* 

c Stroked. d Trouble. * Whole. 



182 BURNS' POEMS. 

I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie. 
So gat the whissle o' my grot,* 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale,' 
An' by my pouther an' my hail,S 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale. 

For this, neist year. 

As soon 's the clocking-time'' is by 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry. 
Lord, I 'se hae sporting by an' bye. 

For my gowd guinea. 
The' I should herd the buckskin kye* 
For 't in Virginia 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
*Twas neither broken wing nor limb. 
But twa-three draps about the wame'' 

Scarce thro' the feathers j 
And baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers 1' 

It pits me ay as mad 's a hare ; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 

But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time 's expedient: 
Meanwhile I am, respected sir. 

Your most obedient. 

TO THE SAME, 

On his wrian? to the author that a girl was with child by him, 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, altho' not a' ; 

( 1 played a lozing game. /The choice. g Shot 

h Hatching-time. 

t Be transportea to America, and made a cow-herd. 

A Belly. I Endure their abuse. 



EPISTLES. Ig3 

Some people tell me gin"* 1 fa' 

Ae way or ither. 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma*, 

13reaks a' thegither. 

I hae been in for 't ance or twice. 
And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest. 
But now a rumour 's like to rise, 

A whaup" 's i' the nest. 

TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

EUisland, Oct. 21, 1789. 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie !® 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie \P 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie" 

Wad bring jje to : 
Lord send you ay as weel 's I want ye, 

And then ye '11 do. 

The ill-thief bla-w the Herons south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel', by word o' mouth. 

He 'd tak my letter ! 
I lippen'd" to the duel' in trouth 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins*^ bonest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one. 
To ware his theologic care on. 

And holy study ; 
An' tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear^ on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d' ye think, my trusty fier V 
I 'm turn'd a guager — peace be here ! 

m If. n Curlew. o Proud. p Cheerful. <] Sliorf journey, 
r Mr. Heron, author of a History of Scotland, and of varioM 
other works. * Depended. / Fellow, 

u Perhaps. w Learning. x Friend 



184 BURNS' POEMS. 

Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear, 

Ye '11 now disdain me, 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me 

Ye glaiket,y gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha by Castalia's wimplin''' streamies, 
Loup, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'JNIang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee* laddies, 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ;•* 

Ye ken yoursel my heart right proud is, 

1 needna vaunt. 
But I 'U sned*^ besoms — thraw saugli woodies,* 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thr^' this warld o' care J 
I 'm weary sick o't late and air !^ 
Not but 1 hae a richer share 

Than monie ilhers; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers 1 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van. 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
And let us mind faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair : 
Wha does the utmost that he can. 

Will whyles"" do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 

(I 'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 

To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife. 
That *s the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

y InattenUve. s Meandering. a Little. 

6 Food and raiment. c Lop, or cut. 

d Twbt willow ropes. t Late and early. ' SomettaJM. 



EPISTLES. 183 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Luckie 
I watff she is a daintie chuckie. 

As e'er tread clay ! 
An' gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I 'm yours for ay. 

RoBEUT BunNS. 

TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 

Dumfries, 17M. 

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your int'rest in the Poet's weal; 
Ah I now sma* heart hae I to speel*! 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill 

And potion glasses. 

O what a cantie' warl were it. 

Would pain, and care, and sickness spare itj 

And Fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve ; 
(And ay a rowth'' roast-beef and claret. 

Syne' wha wad starve ?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her ; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker"> 

I Ve found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow-wicker, 
'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrans" by a rattan,** 
Our sinfu' saul to get a clautP on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne,*i whip ! his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut on. 

He 's afF like fire. 

fRnow. h To climb. i Cheerful. k Plenty. 

Then. m Unsteady. n The cat. o A rat. 

» To get hold of. g Then. 



186 BURNS' POEMS. 

Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! ;t is na fair. 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ;•■ 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare, 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes® by, 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh. 
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks' wi' joy. 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker" treasure. 

Soon heels-o'er-gowdie !"' in he gangs. 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs. 
Thy girning'' laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle. 
As dangling in the wind he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil. 

To plague you with this drauntingv drivil. 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quit my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the Devil ! 

Amen! Amen! 

TO A TAYLOR, 

la answer to an Fpistlc wliich lie had sent to the author.'* 

What ails ye now, ye lousie b — ch. 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch 1 

r Mad, or off our {^iiard. s To buzz. 

t Literally, itches. Some iiersons manifest a liip^h degree of 
pleasure by a quick motion or the elbow. « Sure. 

71' Topsy-turvy. x Griiininff hideously. y Urawllnf^. 

* THis answer to a trimming letter, is oiiiitted in Ur. Currie's 
edition of the Foenis, published for the benefit of the Author's 
family ; not because he had any doubt that tne verses were writ- 
ten by Burns, but because he w'as of opinion that they were dis- 
creditable to his memory — and for the same reason, the editor 
and commentator^ In this edition, has forborne to elucidate what 
he deems already snAiciently indelicate. 



EPISTLES. 187 

Losh man ! hae mercy wi' your natch, 
Your bodkin 's bauld, 

I did na suffer half sae much 

Frae daddie Auld. 

What tho' at tunes, when I grow crouse, 
I gie their wames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae 1 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse. 

An' jag the flae. 

King David, o' poetic brief, 
Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
As fill'd his after life with grief 

An' bluidy rants 
An' yet he 's rank'd amang the chief 

O' lang-syne saunts. 

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
I 'U gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet. 
An' snugly sit amang the saunts, 

At Davie 's hip yet. 

But fegs, the Session says I maun 

Gae fa' upo' anither plan, 

Than garrin lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre body, 
And sairly thole their mither's ban, 

Afore the howdy. 
This leads me on to tell for sport. 
How I did wi' the Session sort — 
Auld Clinkum, at the inner port, 

Cry'd three times, ' Robia ! 
Come hither lad, an' answer for 't, 

Ye 're blam'd for jobbin' I' 
Wi' pinch I put a Sunday face on. 
An' snoov'd awa' before the Session— 



188 BURNS' POEMS. 

T made an open, fair confession, 
I scorn to lie; 

And syne Mess John, beyond expression. 
Fell foul o' me. 

A fornicator loun he call'd me, 

An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me j 

I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me ; 

' But what the matter,' 
Quo' I, * I fear, unless ye geld me, 

I '11 ne'er be better' 

* Geld you !' quo' he, * and whatfore no 'i 
If that your right-hand, leg, or toe, 
Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe. 

You shou'd remember 
To cut it afF, an' whatfore no 

Your dearest member V 

* Na, na, quo' I, ' I 'm no for that. 
Gelding 's nae better than 'tis ca't, 
I'd rather suffer for my faut 

A hearty flewit, 
As sair owre hip as ye can draw 't ! 
Tho' I should rue it 

* Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
To please us a', I 've just ae ither. 
When next wi' yon lass 1 forgather, 

Whate'er betide it, 
I *11 frankly gie her 't a' thegither, 

An' let her guide it !' 

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava. 
And therefore, lam, when that I saw, 
I said, • Gude night,' and cam awa,' 

An' left the Session; 
I saw they were resolved »' 

On my oppression. 



EPISTLES. . 189 

THE INVENTORY, 

In answer to a mandate by Mr. Aikin, Surveyor of the Taxes. 
Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith,* 
To which 1 'm clear to gie my aith.** 

Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, 
1 have four brutes o' gallant mettle. 
As ever drew afore a pettle.*' 
My han'-afore,<i a guid auld has been, 
An* wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. 
My han'-ahin« 's a weel gaun*" fillie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,* 
An' your auld burro', monie a time. 
In days when riding was nae crime. 
But ance when in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead boost** to ride. 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat' to, 
(L — d pardon a' my sins and that loo!) 
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,'' 
She 's a' be-devil'd wi' the spavie.' 
My fur-ahin's"» a wordy" beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow° was trac'd. 
The fourth 's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A damn'd red-wudP Kilburnie blastieji 
Forbye*" a cowte^ o' cowtes the wale,* 
As ever ran afore a tail. 
An' he be spar'd to be a beast. 
He '11 draw me fifteen pun'" at least. 

a Tackle. 6 Oath. c A plough-staff. 

d The fore-horse on the. left hand in the plough. 
e The hindmost horse on the same side. /Going. 

!• Kiiraarnock. A Must needs. i Put. 

k Trick, frolic. I Spavin. 

m The hindmost horse on the right hand in the plough. 

n Worthy. o Rope. p Stark mad. 

V A term of contempt. r Besides. * A colU 

t Choice. u Pounds. 



190 BURNS' POEMS. 

Wheel-carriages I hae but few. 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly* new ; 
Ae auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg and baith the trams" are broken ; 
T made a poker o' the spin'le. 
And my auld mither brunt the trin'le.y 

For men, I 've three mischievous boys. 
Run* deils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
A gaudsman^ \ne, a thrasher t' other ; 
Wee Davock bauds the nowte in fother.^ 
I rule them as I ought, discreetly, 
And aften labour them completely ; 
An' ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
I on the Questions tairge<= them tightly, 
Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg,^ 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg. 
He '11 screed^ you aff Effectual CaUiiig, 
As fast as onie in the dwalling. 

I 've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation !) 
I hae nae wife — and that my bliss is. 
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses; 
An' then if Kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils daur na touch me. 

Wi' weans*^ I 'm mair than weel contented 
Heav'n sent me ane mae" than I wanted. 
My sonsie,** smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face. 
Enough of ought ye like but grace ; 
But her my bonnie, sweet wee lady, 
I 've paid enough for her already, 

to Partly, nearly. x Handles. 

y Burnt the wheel. r Right down. 

a The boy who drives the horses in the plough. 

b Little David lothers the black cattle. c Examine. 

d Sliarp, ready. e To repeat any thing flueutlj. 

/"Children. ^ One more. 

h Having a sweet engag-ing^ countcijance. 



EPISTLES. 191 

4n' gin* ye tax her or her mither, 

B' the Lord ! ye 'se get them a' thegither. 

And now remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I 'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I 'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie'' mair; 
Thro' dirt and dub for hfe I 'II paidle. 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel, a' on foot I '11 shank it, 
I 've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 

The Kirk an' you may tak you that. 
It puts but little in your pat ;' 
Sae dinna put me in your buke 
Nor for my ten white shillings lake. 

This list, wi' my ain hand 1 wrote it. 
Day and date as under notit. 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic Robekt Burns. 

Mossgiel, Feb. 22, 1785. 

TO J— S T— T, GL— NC— R. 

AuLD comrade dear and brither sinner. 
How 's a' the folk about Gl — no — r ? 
How do you this blae easthn' wind. 
That 's like to blaw a body blind ? 
For me my faculties are frozen. 
My dearest member nearly dozen'd.™ 

1 've sent you here, by Johnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, vvi' liis sympathetic feeling. 
An* Reid, to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought and wrangl'd^ 
An' meikle" Greek an' Latin mangl'd. 
Till wi' their logic jargon tir'd. 
An' in the depth of science mir'd, 

iU. k Filly, or mare. I Pot. m Impotent. « Mixki 



192 BURNS' POEMS. 

To common sense they now appeal, 
W-iat wives and wabsters° see an* feel : 
But hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly, 
Peruse them an' return them quickly ; 
For now I 'm grown sae cursed douce,P 
I pray an' ponder butt^ the house ; 
My shins, my lane,"" I there sit roasting, 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ; 
Till by an' by, if I baud* on, 
I 'II grunt a real gospel groan : 
Already I begin to try it, 
To cast my een up like a pyet,^ 
When, by the gun, she tumbles o'er, 
Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore : 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

JNIy heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale" of honest men ; 
When bending down with auld grey hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May He who made him still support him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him : 
His worthy fam'ly far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear.^ 

My auld school-fellow, preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, 1 wish him joy ; 
If he 's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither, 
Just five-an'-forty years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I 'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
And Lord remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 
An' next my auld acquaintance Nancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 

o Weavers. p Sober. g The country kitchen, 

r Myselfalone. s Hold. t Magpie. 



EPISTLES. 193 

An' her kind stars hae airted^ till her 
A guid chiely vvi' a pickle siller.* 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
To cousin Kate and sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious. 
For, faith, they '11 aiblins^^ find them fashious ;'» 
To grant a heart is fairly civil, 
But to grant a maidenhead 's the devil ! 
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 
May guardian angels tak a spell. 
An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
But first, before you see heav'n's gloryi 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink. 
An' ay eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare you weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
For my sake this I beg it o' you. 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye '11 find him just an honest man ; 
Sae I conclude and quit my chanter, 
Yours, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter. 

TO A GENTLEMAN 

Who \nd sent him a Newspaper and offered to continue it 
free of expense. 

Ellisland, 1790i 

Kind Sir, I 've read your paper through. 
And faith, to me, 'twas really new ! 
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ? 
This monie a day I 've grain'd^ and gaunted. 
To ken what French mischief was brewin'j 
Or what the drumlie'* Dutch were doing ; 
That vile doup-skelpcr,^ Emperor Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off ; 

* Moved to her; an allusion to tlic wind sliifUn^ to a particuJar 
quarter. y Ciood fellow. 

z A quantity of silver. a \'ev\\\x\i^. !• Tronhlesorae. 

C Groaned. d t>\i\M\, c One wlin strikes> the tail. 

K 



194 BURNS' POEMS. 

Or how the collieshangie'" works 

Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 

Or, if the Swede, before he halt, 

Would play anither Charles the Twaltj* 

If Denmark, any body spak o't ! 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack'' o't ; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hiuginV 

How libbet'' Italy was singin* ; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 

Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's court keep up the game ; 

How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him 1 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleekit' Chatham Will'" was livin'. 

Or glaiket" Charlie^ gat his nieveP in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin*. 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin' ;i 

How cesses, stents, •■ and fees were rax'd,* 

Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 

The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 

Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls ; 

If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 

Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails. 

Or if he was grown oughtlins douce,* 

And no a perfect kintra cooser :" 

A' this and mair I never heard of ; 

And but for you I might despair'd of. 

So, gratefu', back your news I send you. 

And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! 

/Quarrcl'ing. g Twelfth. 

h Tl e guiding, or governing of it. 

i Hanging. k Castrated. I Slendet. 

in Wjlliam Pitt, son of the Earl of Chatham. 

n Thoughtless, giddy. o The celebrated Charles Jame« FoJ5» 

p The fist. q Yoked. r Tribute, dues, 

t Stretched, increased. t Wiser. u Country \ 



EPISTLES. 195 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

[A Dedication.] 

Expect na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin',* fleth'rin',y dedication. 
To roose^ you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid. 
Because ye 're surnam'd like His Grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I 'm tired — and sae are ye, 
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
Set up a face, how 1 stopt short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun* do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou' ;•» 
For me ! sae laigh'= I needna bow. 
For, Lord be tliankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa** yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae 1 shall say, an' that 's nae flatt'rin', 
It 's just sic Poet an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help him. 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp^ him. 
He may do weel for a' he 's done yet. 
But only he 's no just begun yet. 

The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
1 winna lie, come what will o' me), 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. 
He 's just nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant. 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What 's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it; 
Aught he can lend he '11 no refus't. 
Till aft his goodness is abus'd : 

X SiippHcating. y Flattering. 2 To pniMT. 

a Mint. b Bellyful. c Low. d CKaUOt, 

t To strike. 



«? 



106 BURNS' POEMS. 

And rascals whyles that him do wrang. 
E'en that he does not mind it lang ; 
As master, landlord, husband, father. 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that j 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It 's naething but a milder feature, 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : 
Ye '11 get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild of Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodox)'. 
That he 's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It 's no thro' terror of damnation : 
It 's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality ! thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a winnock*^ frae a whore. 
But point the rake that takes the door ; 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane,^ 
And hand their noses to the grunstane ;'' 
Ply every art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter — stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves,' an' lang wry faces. 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I '11 warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
For gumlie'' dubs' of your £.in delvin' ! 

'Window. g A hard roc': stone. h Grindstone* 

t teaudn. A Muddy ' A small ponU. 



EPISTLES. 107 

Ye sons of heresy and error. 
Ye '11 some day squeal"" in quakin' terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath. 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him : 
While o'er the harp pale INlis'ry moans. 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones. 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist" forgat my dedication ! 
But when divinity comes 'cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft" vapour. 
But I maturely thought i't proper. 
When a' my works 1 did review. 
To dedicate them, Sir, to You ; 
Because (ye needna tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronise them wi' your favour. 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said, ever pray, 
But that 's a word I needna say : 
For prayin' I hae little skill o 't ; 
I 'm baith dead-sweerP an' wretched ill o 't ; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r. 
That kens or hears about you, Sir : — 

* May ne'er misfortune's growling bark. 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart : 
May Kennedy's far-honour'd fame, 
Lang beeti his hymeneal flame. 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen. 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonnie lasses round their table 



m Scream. n Almost. 

Foolbh. p Aterse. g Add fuel to. 



108 BURNS' POEMS. 

And seven braw fellows, stout an' able 

To serve their king and country vveel. 

By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 

May health and peace, with mutual rays, 

Shine on the evening o' his days ; 

Till his wee curlie John's ier-oe,' 

When ebbing life nae ina-ir shall flow. 

The last, sad mournful rites bestow !' 
I will not wind a lang conclusion, 

Wi' complimentary effusion : 

But whilst your wishes and endeavours 

Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Powers above prevent !) 
That iron-hearted carl. Want, 
Attended in his grim advances. 
By sad mistakes and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures ily him. 
Make you as poor a dog as 1 am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor? 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Ileav'n ! 
While recollection's pow'r is giv'n, 
If, in the vale of humble life. 
The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognise my master dear. 
If, friendless. Ion, .'^e meet together, 
l"hen, Sir, your hawd — my friend and brother ! 

TO THE SAME. 

(Recommending a boy.) 

Mosgauille, May 3, J78( 

I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty 

To warn you how that Ma'5ter Tootie, 

r Great grand-child. 



EPISTLES. 199 

Alias, Laird JM'Gaun,* 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don't afF han':* 
But lest he learn the callan" tricks. 

As faith I muckle doubt him. 
Like scrapin' out auld crummie's^' nicks. 
An' tellin' lies about them ; 
As lieve'' then 1 'd have then. 

Your clerkship he should sair,* 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho' I say 't, he 's gleg^ enough. 
An' bout a house that 's rude an' rough, 
The boy might learn to swear ; 
But then wi' you, he '11 be sae taught. 
An' get sic fair example straught, 

I hae na ony fear. 
Ye 'II catechise him every quirk. 

An' shore* him weel wi' hell ; 
An' gar him follow to the kirk 

— Ay when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday, 
Then please. Sir, to lea'e, Sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I hae gien. 

In Paisley John's, that nig^* d e'en. 

To meet the Wand s worm ; 
To try to get the twa to gree,"* 
An' name the airles^ an' the fee. 

In legal mode an' form : 

t Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline ; a dealer in cows. It 

was his common practice to cut tlie nicl<s or marking from the 

horns of cattle, to disguise their age.— He was an arlful, trick- 

contrivin? character; hence he is called a snick-drawer. In the 

Poet's ' Address to the Deil,' he styles thai august personage aa 

9uld, snick-drawing dog!— Reliques, p. 397. „ , 

t Off hand. u Boy. w Old cow. x Rather. 

y Serve. z Sharp. a Threaten. 

b Agree. e Earnest money. 



200 BURNS' POEMS. 

I ken he weel a snick can draw, 

W hen simple bodies let him j 
An' if a Devil be at a'. 

In faith he 's sure to get him. 
To phrase you an' praise you, 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 
The prayer stiil, you share still, 
Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRA. 
When Nature her great master-piece design''d, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind. 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 
Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain, plodding industry, and sober worth : 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genius take their birth. 
P2ach prudent cit a warm existence finds. 
And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet. 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net : 
The caput inorluum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires , 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, - 
She kneads the lumpish, philosophic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave desig«JS 
Law, physics, politics, and deep divines : 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles. 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood. 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounced it very good ; 
But here she gave creating labour o'er. 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery ignis J'atuus matter ; 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter ; 
With arch-alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to shew it) 



EPISTLES. 201 

She forms the thing, and christens it — a Poet, 
Creature, the' oft the prey of care and sorrow. 
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow. 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends ; 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife. 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjjay each pleasure riches give. 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk ; 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work ; 
Pitying the propless climber of mankind. 
She cast about a standard-tree to find; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 
Attach'd him to the generous truly great — • 
A title, and the only one 1 claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful ]Muses' hapless train. 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish, stern, absorbent stuflT, 
That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough ; 
The little fate allows, they share as soon. 
Unlike sage, proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
The •^orid were blest did bliss on them depend. 
Ah ! that the friendly e'er should want a friend ! 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son. 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun. 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
(Instinct 's a brute, and sentiment a fool I) 
Who make poor ivill do wait upon I should — 
We own they 're prudent ; but who feels they 're 
good? 

Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
But come ye who the god-like pleasure know, 
Heaven's attribute distinguish 'd — to bestow ! 
K 2 



202 BURNS' POEMS. 

Whose arms of love would grasp the human race: 
Come thou who giv'st with all the courtier's grace 
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 
Why shrinks my soul half-blushing, half-afraid. 
Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid ? 
I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
But there are such who court the tuneful nina — 
Heavens ! should the branded character be mine ! 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows. 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 
Mark, how their lofty, independent spirit 
Soars on the spurning wmg of injur'd merit 
Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 
Pity the best of words should be but wiud! 
So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends, 
But groveling on the earth the carol ends. 
In all the clam'rous cry of starving want. 
They dun benevolence with shameless front- 
Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 
They persecute you all your future days ! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain. 
My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
The piebald jacket let me patch once more;. 
On eighteen-pence a-week I've liv'd beibie. 
The', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift 
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift : 
That placed by thee upon the wish'd-for height. 
Where, Man and Nature fairer in her sight. 
My Muse may imp her wing for some sublimer 
flight. 

TO THE SAME. 

Lace crippled of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
t)ull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest:) 



EPISTLES, 203 

Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail? 
(It soothes poor Misery hearkening to her tale) 
And hear him cur-se the light he first survey'd, 
And doubly curse the lucicless rhyming trade? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; 
Of thy caprice maternal 1 complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. 
Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. 
Foxes and statesmen, subtle wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 
HcF tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard. 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! 
A thing unteachable in world's skill. 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun ; 
No claws to dig, liis hated sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry. Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur. 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics ! appall'd, I venture on the name. 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame • 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 



204 BURNS POEMS. 

His well-won bays, than life itself more dear. 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear j 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in the unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd. 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 
Dead, even resentment, lor iiis injur'd page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! 
So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas'd. 
For half-starv'd, snarling curs a dainty feast; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone. 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest! 

Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If manthng high she fdls the golden cup, 
"With sober, selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder some folks do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog. 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When Disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disast'rous night t\\ey darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that fools are Fortune's care. 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
In equanimity they never dwell. 
By turns in soaring heav'n or vaulted hell. 

1 dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe^ 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd at noon appears. 



EPISTLES 205 

And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a lon^ life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ; 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to Hfe ; and soothe his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 

TO THE SAME, 

On receiving a Favour. 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strams, 
A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns , 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new. 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night , 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres^ 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 

TO MRS. DUNLOP, 

On New- Year's Day. 

This day. Time winds th' exhausted cham. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old bald-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow. 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir. 
In vain assail him with their prayer ; 
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press. 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 



206 BURNS' POEMS. 

Will you (the Major 's with the hounds. 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila 's lair Rachel's care to-day ,<l 
And blooming Keith 's engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow, 
(That grand-child's cap will do to-morrow) 
And join with me a-moralizing 1 
This day 's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver'? 
' Another year is gone for ever.' 
And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
' The passing moment 's all we rest on !' 
Rest on — for what 1 what do we here 1 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will Time, amus'd with proverb 'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must- — 
Repose us in the silent dust. 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss 1 
Yes — all such reasonings are amibs ! 
The voice of nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies. 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail uncertain state. 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future life, in worlds unknown. 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as misery's woeful night. 

Since, then, my honour'd first of friends. 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us til' important now employ, 
And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, 
Witness' that filial circle round 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 

d This yoang lady was drawing a picture of CoilBf 
from the ' Visica.' 



EPISTLES. aw 

A sight pale envy to convulse), 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 

10 THE SAME. 

On SensiibilUy. 

Sensibility, how charming. 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 

But distress with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily. 

Blooming in the sunny ray : 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley , 

See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest. 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe ! 

TO A YOUNG FRIEND.e 

May, 1786. 

1 LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' il should serve nae other end 

Them' just a kind memento. 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine j 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang. 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye '11 try the world soon, my lad, 
And, Andrew dear, believe me, 

Mr. A. A. Aikin, now of Liverpool, the son of Robert Aikin, Ewj. 



^u.... 



208 BURNS' POEMS. 

Ye '11 find mankind an unco^ squad. 
And muckle they may grieve ye : 

For care and trouble set your thought 
E'en when your end 's attain'd ; 

And a' your views may come to nought. 
When every nerve is strain'd. 

I '11 no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law. 

Are to a few restricked -.s 
But, och ! mankind are unco^ weak. 

An' liltle to be trusted ; 
If self the wav'ring balance shake. 

It 's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife. 

Their fate we should na censure, 
I'or still th' important end of life. 

They equally may answer : 
A man may hae a honest heart, 

Tho' poortith' hourly stare him j 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Ay free afF han' your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom cronie : 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to onie. 
Conceal yo.ursel as weel's ye can, 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek'' thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe' o' weel-placed love. 
Luxuriantly indulge it : 



/ Uncouth, untoward. 

g Restricted. In the use of tliis word, in <!oninion with man> 
olher English words, Burns lias perhaps taken more tlian a poet'» 
Uberty with thie orthography, in order to accommodate his rhyme. 

k Very. t Poverty. A Peep into, or scrutinize. I Flame. 



EPISTLES. 200 

But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it : 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazafd of concealing ; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within. 

And petrifies the feeling ! 
To catch dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That 's justified by honour : 
Not for to hide it in a hedge. 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip 

To baud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honour grip,"* 

Let ay that be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere. 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear. 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange 

For Deity oflfended ! 
When ranting round in pleasure's ring. 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting. 

It may be littie minded : 
But when on life we 're tempest driv'n, 



210 BURNS' POEMS. 

A conscience but a canker— 
A correspondence fix'd wi* Heav'n, 
Is sure a noble anchor. 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ; 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, * God send you speed. 

Still daily to grow wiser ! 
And may you better reck the rede,** 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 

TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH, 

EncloBing a copy of Holy Willie's Prayer, 
which he had requested. 

Sept. nth, 1785. 

While at the stock" the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin'P show'r. 
Or in gulravagei rinnin' scow'r. 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet. 

Is grown right eerie' now she *s done it. 

Lest they should blame her, 
An* rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anathem her. 

I ov>Ti 'twas rash, an' rather hardy. 
That I, a simple, kintra' bardie. 
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me. 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Lowse h-11 upon me. 

n Take heed, or pay due attention to "ood advice. 

• Shock of corn- p Pelting. (/ Riotous merriment. 

r Frighted. s Country. 



EPISTLES. 211 

But I gae mad at their grimaces. 
Their sighin', cantin', grace-prood faces. 
Their throe-mile prayers, an' half-mile graces, 

I'heir raxin'' conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 

Waur nor" their nonsense. 

There 's Gaun,^ miska't* waur than a beast, 
VVha has mair honour in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid 's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him ; 
An* may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they 've use't him 1 

See him.y the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed ; 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums,* 
An' not a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums 1* 

Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 

1 'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts. 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arL'> 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, 1 'm no the thing I should be. 
Nor am 1 ev'n the thing I could be. 
But twenty times I rather v/ould be. 

An atheist clean. 
Than under gospel colours hid be 

Just for a screen. 

A honest man may like a glass, 
A honest man may like a lass, 

t Stretching. u Worse than. 

w Gavin Hamilton, Esq. x Miscalled. 

y rhe poet has introduced the two first lines of this stanza lots 
M dedication of his worlvs to Mr, Hamilton. 

£ Fellows. a Idle talkers. 



212 BURNS' POEMS. 

But mean revenge, an' malice fause,* 

He '11 still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
For what 1 to gie their malice skouth<= 

On some puir wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, 

To ruin streight. 

All hail. Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame tliee. 

Tho* blotcht an' foul wi' mony a stain. 

An* far unworthy of thy train. 

With trembling voice 1 tune my strain 

To join with those. 
Who boldly dare thy cause maintain 

In spite of foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs. 
In spite of undermining jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' mciit. 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr, my dear, my native ground, 
Within thy presbytereal bound 
A candid, lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 

An' manly preachers. 

h Falfle. c Scope. 



EPISTLES. 213 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some by whom your doctrine's blam'd 

(Which gies you honour). 
Even, Sir, by them your heart 's esteem'd. 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en. 
An' if impertinent 1 've been, 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 

TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGEN- 
GILLAN, 

la tnfwer to an obiigin? Letter he sent in the Commencement 

of my Poetic Career. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
See wha takes notice o' the bard, 

I lap^ and cry'd fu' loud. 

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I '11 cock my nose aboon them a*, 

I 'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! 

*Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yoursel, 
To grant your high protection ; 

A great man's smile ye ken fu' well. 
Is ay a blest infection. 

The*, by his banes wha In a tub 

Match 'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs thro' dirt an' dub, 

I independent stand ay.- — 

dDid leep. 



214 BURNS' POEMS. 

And when those legs to guid, warm kail, 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee* dyke'^-side, a sybow^-tail, 
And barley-scone*' shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow'ry simmers !* 
And bless your bonnie lasses baith,'' 

I 'm tald they 're loosome kimmers !' 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country ! 

TO TERRAUGHTY,™ ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. 

Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran chief; 
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf, 

This natal morn, 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief," 

Scarce quite half worn.— 

This day thou metes three-score eleven. 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka poet), 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckios view wi' sorrow. 

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow. 

May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow. 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure." — 

* S!ia<5ed, or prassy. /Wall. g A sort of leek. 

A Cake. i Suramers. h Both. I Lovely girU. 

•n Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfries. n Prooi. 

Brimstone dust. 



/ 



EPISTLES. 21S 

But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie, 
May couthieP fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny, 

Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkie li Lord be near ye, 
And then the Deil he daur na steer*" ye : 
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye; 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist* my heart I dinna wear ye. 

While Burns they ca' me. 

TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL. 

(Exterapore Lines on returning a Newspaper.) 

EUisland, Monday Evening. 

Your news and review. Sir, I 've read through and 
With little admiring or blaming ; [through, Sir, 

The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, 
No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends the reviewers, those chippers and 
Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir ; [hewers. 

But of meet, or unmeet, in a fabric complete, 
I '11 boldly pronounce they are none. Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is, to tell all your goodness 
Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 

Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun. 
And then all the world. Sir, should know it ! 

TO MR. MITCHELL, 

Collector of Excise, Dumfries, 1796. 

Friend of the poet, tried and leal,* 
Wha wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 

p Lovin<r. 7 Clever fellow. 

Dare not molest. t Next. t Slauncb, faitbTuL 



216 BURNS' POEMS. 

Alake, alake, the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 

Are at it, skelpin' !" jig and reel. 

In my poor pouches. 

I modestly fu' faln^'' wad hint it. 
That one pound one, I salrly want it : 
If wi' the hizzie'' down ye sent it. 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood duntedjy 

I'd bear 't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin',* 

To thee and thine ; 
Domeetic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale* design. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye 've heard this while how I 've been licketj 
And by fell death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket,** 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap<= a wicket. 

And turn'd a neuk.'* 

But by that health, I 've got a share o't. 
And by that life, I 'm promis'd mair o't. 
My hale and weel« I '11 take a care o 't 

A tentier^ way ; 
Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't. 

For ance and ay. 

« Tripping. w Very desirous. 

X The girl. y Beats. z The place of mllldng. 

a Whole. b A jacket. c Leaped. d Ck)rner. 

e Health and welfare. / More cautious. 



EPISTLES. 21T 

rO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD 
OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send 

(Not moony madness more astray) ; 
Who but deplores that hapless friend t 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, 
Ah why should I such scenes outlive ! 

Scenes so abiiorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 

TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, 

After her marriage, with a Present of a copy of his Poems. 

On^ie fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, 
Svv'eet early object of my youthful vows, 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere. 
Friendship ! — 'tis all cold duty now allows :— 

And when you read the simple, artless ihymes, 
One friendly sigh for him (he asks no more), 

Who distant burns in flaming, tor-rid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 

TO MISS LOGAN, 

With Beattie's Poems, as a New-year's Gift. 

Jan. 1, 1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n. 

And you tho' scarce in maiden prime. 
Are so much nearer heav'n. 

No gifts liave I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts. 

In Edwin's simple tale. 
L 



218 BURNS' POEMb. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to you. 

TO A YOUNG LADY, 

Mi»t Jessy Lewars, Dumfries ; with a Present of Books. 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer — 
That Fate may in her fairest page. 
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss enrol thy name : 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 

TO A YOUNG LADY, 

With a Present of Son<js. 
Here, where the Scottish Bluse immortal lives, 

In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd. 
Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives. 

Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no niffian-feellng in thy breast, 
Discordant, jar thy bosom chords among ; 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song : 

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 

As modest want the tale of woe reveals ; 

trVhile conscious viitue all the strain endears. 
And heav'n-born piety her sanction seals. 



EPISTLES. 210 

TO A LADY, 

With a Present of a Pair of Drinking-Glawcfc 

Fair empress of the Poet's soul, 

And queen of Poetesses — 
Clarinda, take this little boon. 

This humble pair of glasses. — • 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

' The whole of human kind !' 

* To those who love us !' — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us .' 

A third — * To thee and me, love !' 

TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS, 

A very Young Lady, with a Present of a Book. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay. 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings j 



220 BURNS' POEMS. 

Thou amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round. 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth ! 

TO A LADY, 

Whom the Author had often celebrated under the name ol 
Chloris, with a Present of a Copy of his Poems. 

*Tis Friendship's pledge, my young fair friend. 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor viith unwilling ear 'attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms. 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few : 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill Ccime the tempest's lower 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower) : 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

StUl much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow, 

On conscious honour's part ; 
And, dearest gift of Heaven below. 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 

With every Muse to rove : 
And doubly were the l*oet blest 

Those joys could he improve. 



EPISTLES. 221 

TO MRS. SCOTT, OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE, 
In answer to an Epistle which she had sent the Author. 

March, 1191. 

I MIND it weel, in early date, 

When I was beardless, young, and blate.8^ 

And first could thresh the barn ; 
Or baud'* a yokin' at the pleugh ; 
An' though forfoughten' sair eneugh. 

Yet unco proud to learn ! 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was, 
And wi' the lave'' ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass • 
Still shearing and clearing 
The tither stocked raw/ 
Wi' clavers"* an' haivers," 
Wearing the day awa 

Ev'n then, a wish (I mind its pow'r), 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast — 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Some usefu' plan or book could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear,* 
I turn'd the weedin'-heukP aside. 
An' spar'd the symbol dear ; 
No nation, no station. 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but<i blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

g Basnful. h. Hold. i Fatigued. ft Otherj. 

I Sheaves of corn in rows. m Idle stories. 

fi Noiieeniie. o Darley. p Hook. 9 Without 



222 BURNS* POEMS. 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'sf I said before. 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain ; 
I see her yet, the sonsie* quean. 

That lighted up her jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pawky* een^ 
That gart" my heart-strings tingle . 
I fired, inspired. 

At every kindling keek,* 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared ay to speak. 

Hale" to the set, ilk guid chiel^ says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter-days, 

An' we to share in common ; 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
The saul^ o' life, the heav'n below, 

Is raptu.re-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs,* who hate the name. 

Be mindfu' o' your mither ; 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye 're connected with her. 
Ye 're wae men, ye 're nae men, 
That slight the lovely dears ; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, no bred to bam or byre,'' 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line, 
The marled<5 plaid ye kindly spare. 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

*T wad please me to the nine. 

r Harvest. 

s Ha\'in» sweet engaging looks. / Sly. 

« Made, or forced. w Peep. x Health. 

V Good fellow. 2 Soul. a Stupid, sullen fellow* 

b Cow-stable. c Variegated. 



SATIllES. 223 

I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,<i 

Douse hinging o'er my curple,* 
Than onie ermine ever lap. 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel then, lang hale then. 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan*^ ca'. 

11. Burns. 



SATIRES. 



THE HOLY FAIR.ff 

A robe of seeniinsr truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret nun?, with poison'd crust. 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the g-or^et shew'd. 

Dye- varying-, on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle larpfe and broad. 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-Mode, 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snufF the caller'^ air. 
The rising sun owre Galston' muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin' ;'' 
The hares were hirplin'' down the furs,"* 

The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glow'r'd" abroad. 
To see a scene sae gay, 

d Mantle. e Decently hang-inj over my loins. 

/ A seat of tuff outside a cottage door. 

g Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west of Scotland for a 

sacramental occasion. h Fresh. 

t The name of a parish adjofnin°r Mauchline. h Peeping. 

I Creeping^. m Furrows. n Looked. 



224 BURNS' POEMS. 

Three hizzies, early at the road. 

Cam skelpin'" up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black. 

But ane wi' lyartP llnhig ; 
The third, that gaed a wee a-back,** 

Was in the fashion shining, 

Fu' gay that day. 
The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes f 
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin, 

An' sour as onie slaes ;* 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup,* 

As light as onie lammie. 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 
Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, ' Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I 'm sure I 've seen that bonnie face, 

But yet 1 canna name ye.' 
Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak, 

An' taks me by the hands, 
* Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feek" 

Of a' the ten comm^ands 

A screed* some day. 
' My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that 's Hypocrisy. 
I 'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 

To sj>end an hour in daffin' :* 
Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkledy pair. 

We will get famous laughin' 

At them this day.' 

Walking. p Grey. q Went a little aIoo{- 

r Clothes. * Sloes. t Hop, step and jiiiup, 

n The greater part. w A rent, or tear. 

X Merriment. v Wrinkled. 



SATIRES. 2 

Quoth I, • With a' my heart, I 'II do 't; 

I 'II get my Sunday's sark=' on. 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith we's hae fine remarkin' ! 
Then I gaed* hame at crowdie-time,^ 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a weary body, 

In droves that day. 
Here farmers gash,^ in riding graith,** 

Gaed hoddin'« by their cotters ; 
There, swankies*^ young, in braw braid claith. 

Are springing o'er the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin'e bare-fit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk-cheese, in monie a whang,'* 
An' farls' bak'd wi' butter 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glow'r'* Black lionnet throws, 

A-n' we maun' draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin'. 
Some carrying deals, some chairs an* stools, 

An' some are busy bleth'rin'™ 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs. 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three" w — s, 

Are blinkin' at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin'" jads, 

z Shirt. a Went. h Breakfast time. 

c Talkative. d Accoutrements. 

e The motion of a sage countryman 'idine a cart-horse. 

/ A tight strapping young fellow. e Walking barefoot. 

A A large, thick slice. i A cake tf bread. A Look. 

I Must. m Talking idly. n A few. o Whispering. 

L 2 



=- 



226 BURNS' POEMS. 

Wi' heavm' breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch of wabsterP lads. 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
For fun this day. 
Here some are thinkin' on their sins. 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'di his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch/ 

Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces j 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang* winkin* on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 
happy is that man and blest ! 

(Nae wonder that it pride him !) 
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best. 

Comes clinkin' down beside him ! 
Wi' arm lepos'd on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him ! 
W^hich, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An' 'a loof upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 
Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For ***** speels" the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation.'^ 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 
The very sight o' *****'s face, 

To 's ain het* hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 
Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi* rattlin' an' wi' thumpin* ! 

p A weaver. q Defiled. r A sample. s Biisy. 
t Palm of the hand. u To climb. 

V! This word was originally printed salvation. The present 
reading was adopted in the Edinburgh edition, at the sug?estiou 
of Dr. Ulair, by which the wit of the verse is undoubtedly im- 
proved. * Hot home. 



SATIRES. 221 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He 's stampin' an' he 's j urn pin' ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. 

His eldritch squeely and gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters. 

On sic a day ! 

But, hark ! the tent* has chang'd its voice } 

There 's peace an' rest nae langer j 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger ! 
***** opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs. 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style an' gestures fine 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld Pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define. 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That 's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
Pqj. »*«*#** ^ fj^Q thg water-fit,* 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he 's got the word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim^ has view'd it. 
While Common Sense has taen the road. 

An* aff an' up the Cowgate,*= 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Frightful scream. z A field pulpit. 

■ "' c A street «o called* 



228 BURNS' POEMS. 

Wee ****** niest<^ the guard relieves. 

An' Orthodoxy raibles,* 
The' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie' wants a manse,8f 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit and sense 

Like hafflins-ways^ o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 
Now, butt an' ben> the change-house'' fills^ 

Wi' yill-caup^ commentators : 
Here 's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An' there the pint stowp"i clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic and wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 
Leeze me" on drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either school or college : 
It kindles wit, it waukens lear,<» 

It pangs us fouP o' knowledge. 
Be 't whisky gill'i or penny wheep,' 

Or onie stronger potion. 
It never fails, on drinking deep. 

To kittle* up our notion 

By night or day. 
The lads an' lasses blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body. 
Sit round the table weel content. 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this a'ae's dress, an' that ane's leuk,* 

d Next. e To rattle nonsense. / A clever fellow. 

e The par«onaa:e-house where the minister lives. 

A Partly, nearly lialf. i Kitchen and parlour. 

k Couutry i an, or ale-house. I Ale-cup, m Pint-pot. 

n A phrase of 'Endearment. o Learning. p Crams us fult 

« A giU of whisky. r Small beer. 4 Tickle. 

( Look, appearance. 



SATIRES. 229 

They 're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk," 

Aa' forming assignations. 

To meet some day. 
But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts,^ 

Till a' the hills are rairin',* 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black ****** is nae spairin' : 
His piercing vvords, like Highland swords. 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' hell, where devils dwell. 

Our vera sauls does harrowT 

Wi' fright that day. 
A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lovvin' brunstane,* 
Whase raging flame an' scorchin' heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whunstane !» 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear. 

An' think they hear it roarin*, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorino- 

Asleep that day. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill,'> 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round in cogs an' caups, 

Amang the furms an' benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Were dealt about in lunches 

An' dawdsc that day. 
In comes a gaucie,^ gash^ guidwifc. 

An' sits down by the fire, 

u Snuff in a corner. w The blast of a trumpet. 

X Koanng. y Shakspeare's HamleU 

z Flamino: brimstone. 

a The hard rock found in the Ayrshire quarries. 

6 Ale. c targe pieces. d Jolly. e Sagaeioufc 



230 BURNS' POEMS. 

Syne'* draws her kebbucks an' her knife 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auid guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 

Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gies them't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks^ for him that gets nae lass. 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie* his braw claithing ! 
O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,*' 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

Now Clinkumbell,' wl' rattlin' tow," 

Begins to jow an' croon ;" 
Some swagger hame the best they dew,* 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slapsP the billiesi halt a blink,' 

Till lasses slip their shoon : 
Wi' faith and hope, an' love an' drink, 

They 're a' in famous tune 

For crack* that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane 

As saft as onie flesh is. 
There 's some are fou* o' love divine ; 

There 's some are fou o' brandy j 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

/ Then. g- Cheese. h Alas ! i To soil with med. 

k The heel of cheese. I Who rin^s the church-bell. 

iM Rope. n The motion of ringing, and sound of the bell 

o As well as they can. » Gates. g Young men. 

r A little time. * Talk. t Full. 



SATIRES. 231 

May end iu houghmagandie'* 
Some ither day. 

THE ORDINATION. 

For sense they little owe to frus^al Heav'n — 
To please the mob, they hide the little giv'n. 

KiLMAUNOCK wabsters,'' fidge an' claw,' 

An' pour your creshie> nations ; 
An' ye wha leather rax* an' draw. 

Of a' denominations — 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a*. 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then afF to Begbie's in a raw,* 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Comtnoh Sense, that imp o' hell, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ,° 
But O ****** aft made her yell, 

An' Russel sair misca'd her ; 
This day M'Kinlay taks the flail, 

An' he 's the boy will blaud<= her j 
He '11 clap a shangan** on her tail. 

An' set the bairns® to daub her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste an* turn king David owre. 

An' lilt^ wi' holy clangor ; 
O' double verse come gie us four. 

An' skirls up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stour,** 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her ; 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

a Fornication. w Weavers. x Scratch. y Grea«jr. 

z Stretch.— An allusion to shoemakers. a Row. 

b Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the adrais- 

•ion of the late reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Lai^h Kirk. 

c To slap, or strike. 

d A cleft stick, sometimes mischievously fastcnea to the tail of 

» dog. e Children. / To sing. 

g To shriek, or cry aloud. h Dust. 



[2 BURNS' POEMS. 

And gloriously she '11 whang' her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigour. 
How graceless Ham'' leugh' at his dad. 

Which made Canaan a niger ;™ 
Or Phineas" drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' w — e-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah," the scauldin'P jade, 

Was like a bluidyi tiger 

1' th' inn that day. 

There, try his metal on the creed. 

And bind him down, wi' caution. 
That stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed. 

And punish each transgressioa^ 
Especial rams, that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin' ; 

Spare them" nae day. 

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail. 

And toss thy horns fu' canty •/ 
Nae mair thou 'It rowte* out-owre the dale. 

Because thy pasture 's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail' 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty. 
And runts" o' grace the pick and wale," 

No gien by way o' dainty. 

But ilka'' day. 

Nae mair by Babel's streams we '11 weep. 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hingy our fiddles up to sleep, 

t To give the strappado. 
A Gen. ix. 23. I Did laugh. m A nesrro. 

n NiuJib. XXT. 8. o Exod. iv. 24. p Scolding, 

g Bloody. r Merrily. « Roar, bellow. 

I Colewort. u The steins of colewort, or cabbage, 

w Choice. X Every. y Hang. 



SATIRES. 233 

Like baby-elouts a-dryin' : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep," 

And o'er the thairms* be try in' ; 
O rare ! to see our elbucks'' wheep,* 

An' a' like lamb-tails flying 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,^ 

Has shor'd^ the Kirk's undoin'. 
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn/ 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencaim, 

He saw mischief was brewin' ; 
And, like a godly elect bairn, 

He 's v/al'd? us out a true ane. 

And sound this day. 

Now R*^'^<wV#* harangue nae mair. 

But steak your gab'^ for ever : 
Or try the wicked44wn of Ayr, 

For there they '11 think you clever : 
Or, nae reflection on your lear,' 

Ye may commence a shaver j 
Or to the Netherton repair, 

And turn a carpet-weaver 

AfF-hand this day. 

M***** and you were just a match. 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Horuie did the Laigh Kirk watch. 

Just like a winkin' baudrons j'' 
And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons . 
But now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons. 
Fast, fast this day. 

f Chirp. a Fiddle-strinjys. b Elbows. e Move nimbljr. 

<i Iron. e Offered, or attempted. /Distressed. 
g Picked. A Shut your tuouth. i Learning. A A cat. 



234 BURNS' POEMS. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingin'™ thro' the city : 
Hark ! how the nine-tail'd cat she plays \ 

I vow it 's unco" pretty : 
There, Learning, wi' his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
An' Common Sense is gaun, she say£. 

To mak to Jamie Beattie<» 

Her plaint this day. 
But there's Morality himsel. 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell 

Between his twa companions ! 
See, how she peels the skin an' fcll,P 

As ane were peeling onions I , 
Now there — they 're packed aff tbJiell, 

And banish'd our dominions, / 

Henceforth this«ay. 
O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come, bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
M'Kinlay, Russel, are the boys. 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They '11 gie her on a rape! a hoyse,"" 

And cowe* her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 
Come, bring the tither mutchkin* in ; 

And here 's, for a conclusion. 
To every newMghl^ mother's son, 

From this time forth, confusion ; 
If mair they deave* us wi' their din. 

Or patronage intrusion, 

I Foes. m Whipping. ij Very. 

James Beattie, LL. D., author oi * The Minstrel,* ••Evid<;iice» 
of the <^hrif tian Religion,' &c. 

p The flesh immediately under the skin. q Rope. 

r Hoist, s To lop, or cut off. ( An English pint- 

u See note, p. 176. w To deafen. 



SATIRES. 235 

^^e '11 light a spunk,^ and every skin. 
We '11 lin^ them aff in fusion 

Like oil some day. 

ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, 

Or the Rigidly Righteous. 

My son, these maxims make a rule. 

And lump them ay thegither ;* 
The rigid Righteous is a "fool. 

The rigid Wise anither : 
Tlie cleanest corn that e'er was dightt 

May hae some pyles o' caffj in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o' daffin'.^ ., _ 

Sy/omon.— Eccles. vii. 17. 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye 've pought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebor'slauks and folly ! 
Whasdife is like ac\veel-gaun*= mill, 

SupulyM wi'^st^te o' water. 
The heapet happer's^ ebbing still, 

And still the clap'^ plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core. 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce*" Wisdom's door 

For glaikit? Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie** tricks, their black mistakes. 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer,' 
But cast a moment's fair regard. 

What maks the mighty differ 1 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

w A fire. X Run. ♦ Always together. 

t Cleaned from chaff. | Grains of chaff. §MtriiMent 

c Well-going. d Heaped hopper. c Clapper nf m mill. 

/"Sober. ^ Thoughtless. A Unlucky. i ICm l.ang*-. 



36 BURNS' POEMS. 

That purity ye pride in. 
And (what 's aft mair then a' the lave'') 
Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What ragings must his veins convulse. 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith' to sail. 

It maks an unco™ lee-way. 

See social life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugnfy'd, they 're grown 

Debauchery and drink;n* : \ 
O, would they stay tojcalculate j 

Th' eternal consequences-; / 
Or, your more dreaded hell to^tate. 

Damnation of experises ! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names. 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye *re aiblins" nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man. 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin'" wrang ; 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark. 

The moving why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

M All the rest. { Both. m Avrkwird. u Pertaap*. 

A little, a small matter. 



SATIRES. 237 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord — its various tone 

Each spring — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let 's be mute, 

We never can adjust it: 
What 's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what 's resisted. 

THE TWA HERDS.* 

The * Twa Herds' were Mr. Moodie, minister of Riccarton, 
and Mr. John Kussel, then minister of Kilinarnocli, and after- 
wards of Stirling. 

O a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on p^astures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep ye frae the fox, 

/ Or^yorrying tykes,P 

Or wha -v^ill tent the waifsT and crocks/ 
About the dykes 1 

The twa best Heftts-in a' the wast. 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast. 
These five-and-twenty simmers past, 

O, dool» to tell ! 
Hae had a bitter, black outcast* 

Atween themsel. 

O M*Kinlay, man ; and wordy" Russel, 

How could you raise so vile a bustle. 

Ye '11 see how newMght herds will whistle. 

And think it fine ? 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle,^ 

Sin' I hae min'. 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit. 
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 

* * This is the first of my poetic offsprings that saw the light* 
Bums' Letters. 

p Dogs. g Strayed, and not yet c'aimed. 

•• Ewes too old for breeding:. * SorrowfuJ. t UuarreU 

« Worthy. w To twist, to twine. 



238 BURNS' POEMS. 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit. 
To wear the plaid, 

But by the brutes themselves eleckit,* 
To be their guide. 

What flock wi' M'Kinlay's flock could rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank,? 

He let them taste, 
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank — 

O eic a feast ! 

The thummarfi wil'-cat, brock'* and tod,'' 
Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood. 
He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in. 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skinV 

What herd like Kussel tell'd hisjtaW? 
His voice was heard th^* muir an4 dale 
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep,^ka tail. 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin*^ they were sick or hale,^ 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 

Or nobly fling the gospel club. 

And new-light herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them o'er the burnin' dub,* 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa ! — O, do I live to see 't? 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' namea, like villain, hypocrite. 

Ilk ither gien,' 
While new-light herds, wi' laughin' spite. 

Say neither 's liein' ! 

Elected. y Pool of standing water. z Pole-cat* 

a Badger. fcFos. elf,. rf Healthy. 

e Pond. /Each other give. 



SATIRES. 239 

A* ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 

There 's D n deep, and P s shaul j* 

But cliiefiy thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauid. 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we 're beset. 
There 's scarce a new herd that we gel. 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set, 

I winna name, 
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

Dalrymple has been lang our fae, 
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae,? 
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M e. 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief, 

We thought ay death wad bring rehef, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha '11 soundly bulF our beef 

I meikle dread him, 

And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel. 

There 's S — h for ane, 
I doubt he 's but a grey-nick quill. 

An' that ye '11 fin'. 

O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills. 
By mosses, meadows, moors and fells. 
Come .join your counsel and your skills. 
To cowe'' the lairds, 

/Shallow. g Much woe. h Frighten. 



240 BURNS' POEMS. 

And get the brutes the power themsels. 
To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woodie dance,' 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish 'd o'er the sea to France ; 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
JVI'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Q — 's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math,'' 
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, 

May a' pack afF. 

THE KIRK'S alarm; 

Orthodox, Orthodox, 

Wha believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience; 

There's a heretic blast. 

Has been blawn in the wast. 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 

Dr. Mac,*" Dr. Mac, 

You should stretch on a rack. 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense 

Upon onie pretence. 
Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was mad, I declare. 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewm* ; 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the church's relief. 
And orator Bob" is its ruin. 

t Dance in a rope, i. e. be hangred. A See pag^e 210. 

I This poetnwas written a short time after the publication ol 
Ur. M*GiU's Essay. m Dr. M'Gill. n Robert Aiken. 



SATIRES. 241 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 
Tho' your heart 's like a child. 

And your life like the new driven snaw, 
Yet that winna save ye, 
Auld Satan must have ye. 

For preaching that three 's ane and twa. 

Rumble John," Rumble John, 

Mount the steps wi' a groan, 
Cry the book is wi* heresy cramm'd j 

Then lug out your ladle. 

Deal brimstone like adle,P 
And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James,<J Simper James, 

Leave the fair Killie dames. 
There 's a holier chase in your view j 

I '11 lay on your head. 

That the pack ye '11 soon lead. 
For puppies like you there 's but few. 

Signet Sawney,'" Signet Sawney, 

Are ye herding the penny, 
Unconscious what evils await 1 

Wi' a jump, yell, and howl. 

Alarm every soul. 
For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld,* Daddy Auld, 

There 's a tod^ in your fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; 

Tho' ye can do little skaith," 

Ye '11 be in at the death, 
And gif ye canna bite ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster,* Davie Bluster, 
If for a saint ye do muster. 
The corps is no nice of recruits ; 

o Mr. Russel. p Putrid water. q Mr. M'Klnlay. 

r Mr. M ^y « Mr. A— d. t Fox. u Harm. 

r Mr. G 1 of O— 1— e. 

M 



542 BURNS' POEMS. 

Yet to worth let 's be just, 

Royal blood ye might boast. 

If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamie Goose,y Jamie Goose, 

Ye hae made but toom roose,* 
In huntmg the wicked lieutenant ; 

But the doctor 's your mark. 

For the Lord's holy ark, 
He has cooper'd and caw'd* a wrang pin in *t. 

Poet Willie,^ Poet Willie, 

Gie the doctor a volley, 
Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit j 

O'er Pegasus' side 

Ye ne'er laid a-stride, 
Ye but smelt, man, the place where he s — t. 

Andro Gouk,c Andro Gouk, 

Ye may slander the book. 
And the book nane the waur,*! let me tell ye ! 

Ye are rich, and look big, 

But lay by hat and wig, 
And ye '11 hae a calf's head o' sma' value, 

Barr Steenie,® Barr Steenie, 

What mean ye 1 what mean ye ? 
If ye '11 meddle nae mair wi' the matter 

Ye may hae some pretence 

To bavins'" and sense, 
Wi* people wha ken ye nae better. 

Irvine Side,? Irvine Side, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride. 
Of manhood but sma' is your share : 

Ye 've the figure, 'tis true, 

Ev'n your foes will allow. 
And your friends, they dare grant you nae mair. 

V Mr. Y—g of C — n— k. z Empty praise. a Driven. 

b Mr. P— b-« of Ayr. c Dr. A. M-11. 

d None the worse. e S— n Y— g of B — r. 

/ Good manners. g Mr. S— — h of G— n. 



SATIRES. 248 

Muirland Jock,h Muirland Jock, 
When the Lord makes a rock 
lo crush Common Sense for her sins. 
If ill manners were wit. 
There 's no mortal so fit' 
To confound the poor doctor at once. 
Holy Will,i Holy Will, 
There was wit i' your skull. 
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; 
The timmer'' is scant 
^hen ye 're taen for a saunt, 
Wha should swing in a rape" tor an hour. 
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 
Seize your sp'ritual guns. 
Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff. 
Will be pouther" enough. 
And your skulls are storehouses o* lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 
^xn. ^^' y^""* P"est-skelping turns. 
Why desert ye your auld native shire? 
Your Muse is a gypsie, 
E'en tho' she were tipsie. 
She cou'd ca' us nae waur^ than we are. 

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.* 
O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell. 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel'. 
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory. 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They 've done afore thee . 

Holy^Vilhe's Prayer is a t.ierP nf =,«.» ".„ ?'^f5: 



Bcvere 






244 BURNS' POEMS- 

I bless and pr.^ise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night. 
That I am here afore thy sight. 

For gifts an' grace, 
A buinin* an* a shiuin' light, 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation, 
That 1 should get suck , exaltation 7 
I, wha deserve such just damnation, 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation. 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell. 
Thou might hae plung'd me into hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail. 

In burnin' lake, 
Where damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain 'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample. 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I 'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an' example 

To a' thy flock. 

O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
When drinkers drink, and swearers sweai 
And singin' there and dancin' here, 

Wi' great an' sma' : 
For I am keepit by thy fear. 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O Lord ! confess I must. 
At times I 'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust. 
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust, 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 



SATIRES. 24« 

O Lord ! yestreen, thou keus, wi' Meg — 
Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 
O ! may it ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour, 
An* I '11 ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides, I faither maun allow, 

"Wi' Lizzie's lass, t.iree times I trow; 

But, Lord, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her, 
Or else thou kens thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 
Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he 's sae gifted j 
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne. 

Until thou lift it. 

Lord, bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
But God confound their stubborn face. 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace. 

An' public shame. 

Lord, mind Gavin Hamilton's deserts, 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes. 
Yet has sae monie takin' arts, 

Wi' grit an' sma*, 
Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An* whan we chasten 'd him therefore. 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore. 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store. 

Kail and potatoes ! 



246 BURNS' POEMS. 

Lord, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r. 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare, 

Upo' their heads ; 
Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd P Aiken, 
My very heart and saul are quakin'. 
To think how we stood sweatin', shakin*. 

An' p — d wi' dread, 
While he, wi' hingin' lips an' snakin'. 

Held up his head. 

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him ; 
Lord, visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by ''em. 

Nor hear their pray'r ; 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em. 

And dinna spare. 

But, Lord, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane, 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen, 

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay, 

Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure 's a gun. 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he 's as black 's the grun. 

Observe wha 's standing wi' him, 

p Having readiness of speech. 



SATIRES. 247 

Your brunstane devUship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye ; 
But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee. 

Till ance you 've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye have nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it, 

THE CALF. 

TO THE REVERENt MR. , 

On his text, Malachi iv. 2.—' And they shall eo forth, and 
grow up, like calves of the stall.' 

Right, Sir ! your text I '11 prove it true, 

Tho' heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there 's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an uncoi calf ! 

And should some patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi a kirk, 
I doubt na, sir, but then we '11 find 

Ye 're still as great a stirk \' 

But, if the lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a stot !• 

Tho', when some kind, connubial dear. 

Your butt-and-ben* adorns. 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns ! 

<1 A very calf. r A yearling bullock. « As ox. 

I Tlie country kitchen and parlour . 



248 BURNS' POEMS. 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte," 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 
To rank amang the nowte!* 

And when ye 're number'd wi' the dead. 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head— 

* Here lies a famous bullock !' 

TO A LOUSE. 

On «eein» one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church. 
H A ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlia'* ferlie V 
Your impudence protects you sairly; 
I canna say but ye strunt* rarely 

Owre gauze and lace. 
The', faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 
On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,* 
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner. 
How dare you set your fit'' upon her, 

Sac fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner. 

On some poor body. 

Swith,«= in some beggar's haffef^ squattle ;• 
There ye may creep, and sprawl and sprattle 
Wi' ither kindred, jumpin' cattle 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now baud ye there, ye 're out o* sight. 
Below the fatt'rils,*^ snug and tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye '11 no be right 
Till ye 've get on it, 

M To bellow. w Black cattle. x Crawlln j. 

y A terra of contempt. z To walk sturdily. 

« A contemptuous appellation. b feel r Get a«*y 

d The side of tlie head. e To sprav/l. / TnmnunsB. 



SATIRES. 240 

The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 
O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out. 
As plump and gray as onie grozet ;5 

for some rank, mercurial rozet,*' 

Or fell, red smeddum,* 

1 'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't. 

Wad dress your dioddum I'' 

I wad na be surpris'd to spy 

You on an auld wife's flainen toy -^ 

Or aiblins™ some bit duddie" boy, 

On's wyliecoat j° 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ' fie. 

How dare ye do'tl 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An* Get your beauties a' abread !p 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie 's makin' ! 
Thael winks and finger-ends I dread. 

Are notice takin* ! 

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us 

To see oursels as others see us ! 

It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What aire in dress an' gait wad lea'e us. 

And ev'n devotion ! 

ODE, 

■ACR£D TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OF — — . 

Dweller m yon dungeon dark. 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds appears. 
Laden with unhonour'd years, 

g Gooseberry. h Rosin. i Powder. 

h Breech. I An ancient head-drets. m Perhaps 

« Rsceed A Cannel vest. p Abroad. q Those. 

M2 



250 BURNS' POEMS. 

Noosing with care a bursting purse. 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 

STROPHE. 

View the wither'd beldam's face — 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace ? 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save. 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
Lo ! there she goes — unpitied and unblest ! 
She goes — but not to realms of everlasting rest! 

ANTISTROPIIE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes 
(Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), 
Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends'? 

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate. 

She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year ? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here? 

O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier. 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 

The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear. 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heav'n. 

MONODY, 

On a Lady famed for her caprice. 
How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd ! 
How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately 

glisten'd ! 



ELEGIES. ♦JSl 

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd ! 
How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd , 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate. 

Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst uulov'd ! 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear j 
But come all ye offspring of Folly so true. 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier* 

We '11 search thro' the garden for each silly flower, 
We 'U roam thro' the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower. 

For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash 
deed. 

We '11 sculpture the marble, v/e '11 measure the lay ; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from 
her ire. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect. 
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam ; 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect. 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



ELEGIES 



ELEGY ON MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 
As Burnet, lovely, from her native skies ; 
Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow, 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low. 



252 BURNS' POEMS. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ^ 

In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 

In thee, high Heaven above was truest shewn, 

As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore. 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves. 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd \yith reedy fens ; 

Ye mossy streams with sedge and rushes stor'dj 
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens. 

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes.whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth, 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail 1 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail 1 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride. 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres; 

But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide. 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart now sunk, a prey to grief and care 

So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree. 
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. 

Of Glcn-Riddel, April, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood no more. 
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole 

More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest 
roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes I 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 



ELEGIES. 253 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend I 
That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where 
Riddel lies. 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe. 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer 

Is in his narrow house for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet ; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 

ON THE DEATH OF 

SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare 

Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

The inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air, 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 

Lone, as 1 wander'd by each clifF and dell. 
Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;' 

Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd well,^ 
Or mould'ring ruins mark'd the sacred fane ;' 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 

The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky, 
The groaning trees untimely shed their locks. 

And shooting meteors caught the startled eye ; 
The paly moon rose in the livid east. 

And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately form. 
In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 

And mix'd her waitings with the ravhig storm. 
Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

*Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 
Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe. 

The light'ning of her eye in tears imbued. 



r The King's Park, at Holyrood-house. 
Anthonv'i Well. ( St. Anthony '• 



ChapeU 



254 BURNS' POEMS. 

Rcvers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 

Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd 
That like a deathful meteor gleam 'd afar, 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world . 

* My patriot Son fills an untimely grave !' 

With accents wild and lifted arms she cried — 

* Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save. 

Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride ! 

* A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 

The helpless poor mix with the orplian's cry ; 
The drooping Arts surround their Patron's bier, 
And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh. 

* I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow ; 
But, ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 
Kelentless Fate has laid this Guardian low. 

' My patriot falls — and shall he lie unsung, * 

While empty greatness saves a worthless name 1 

No ; every iNiuse sliall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

* And I will join a mother's tender cares. 

Thro' future times to make his virtues last, 
That distant years may boast of other Blairs.' — 
She said, and vanish 'd with the sweeping blast. 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPEn, 

THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD. ESQ. 

Brother to a Voung Lady, a particular friend of the Aulhor'i. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page. 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 
Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow ; 



ELEGIES. 255 

But cold, successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That Nature finest .strung: 
So Isabella's heart was form'd. 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence alone 
Can heal the wound he gave ; 

Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 
To scenes beyond tlie grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow. 

And fear no with'ring blast, 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 

ELEGY ON 

CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

A Gentleman vho held the Patent for his Honours immedUUelf 
from Alviighly God'. 

But now \\\i radiant course is run. 
For Matthew's course was bright: 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, heavenly light! 

O Death ! ihou tyrant fell and bloody! 
The muckle Devil wi' a woodie" 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,* 

O'er hurcheon" hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdieT 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

« A halter. w Smithy. x Hed^ehog^. 

y An anvil.— An allusion is here had to the treating of diM 
»tock-fi«h, to make them tender. 



256 BURNS' POEMS. 

He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's frae us torn. 

The ae best fellow e'er was bora ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall iiiouin 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns,=' 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns !* 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,'* 

Where Echo slumbers I 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,"^ 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn ilka grove the cushat*^ kens ! 

Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies,® wimplin'' down your glens, 

Wi' todlin'? din. 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,** 

Frae linn to linn M 

Mourn, little harebells owre the lee ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie. 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flow'rs ! 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head, 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed 

1' th' rustling gale. 
Ye maukins,'' whiddin'' thro' the glade. 

Come, join my wail ! 

z Star». a A heap of stones piled up in the form of a coue. 

b Eagles— they are here called ' sailing yearns,' in allr.gion to 

U>cir flying without that motion of the wings which is common to 

luost other birds. c Children. d The dove, or wood-pigeon. 

e Rivulets. / Meandering. g VVimpling, 

^ To rear as a horse. t A water-fall. k Hare>» 

I Running as a hare. 



ELEGIES. 257 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood j 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ;•" 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring" paitrick brood ; 

lie 's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

R.air° for his sake I 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks,P at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ! 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae*! far warWs, wha lies in clay. 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye howlets,"" frae your ivy bow'r. 
In some auld tree, or eldritch* tow'r. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r. 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail thro' the weary midnight hour 

Till waukrife* morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard rny cantie" strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow ! 
Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk* cowslip cup shall kep^ a tear : 

m Cloud. 

n The noise made bv the wings of a covey of partridges. 

o To roar. 

p Birds called in Eng^Iand landrails, in Scotland corn-crjik«. 

q Those. v Owls, s Ghuttly. 

t The waking hour. u Cheerlul. vi Each. j; Catch. 



258 BURNS' POEMS. 

Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up his head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear. 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In gnef thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast. 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My Matthew mourn ! 
J. or thro' your orbs he 's taeny his flight. 

Ne'er to return. 

Henderson I the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
And hast thou cross'd tliat unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find anotlier. 
The world around t 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great. 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I 'II wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger I my story 's brief; 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

1 tell nae common tale o' grief. 

For Matthew was a great man. 

V Taken. 



ELEGIES. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man j 

A look of pity hither cast. 

For Matthew v/as a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by this grave, man. 

There moulders here a gallant heart. 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways. 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise. 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca',» 
Wad* life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa',** 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stam. 
Like the unchanging blue, man j 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire. 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man j 

This was thy billie,*^ dam and sire. 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If onie whiggish, whingin'^ sot. 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man j 

May dool^ and sorrow be his lot, 
i'or Matthew was a rare man 



a Call. a Would. h Fall. 

e Brother. d Fretful. e LamentatioBi 



260 BURNS' POEMS. 

TAM SAMSON'Sf ELEGY. 

An honest man's the noblest work of God. — Pope. 

Has auld K********* seen the Deil 1 
Or great I\l'*******g thrawn^ his heel \ 
Or K*******« again grown weel. 

To preach an' read ? 
' Na, waur'^ than a' !' cries ilka' chiel, 

* Tarn Samson 's dead '* 
K********* lang may grunt and grane, 
An' sigh, an sab, an' greet her lane,™ 

An' deed her bairns," man, wife, an' wean,« 

In mourning weed ; 
To death she 's dearly paid the kane,P 

* Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
The brethren of the mystic level, 
May hingi their head in wofu' bevel,' 
While by their nose the tears vvill revel, 

Like onie bead ; 
Death 's gien the lodge an unco devel .;•• 

Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire up like a rock ; 
When to the lochs' the curlers" flock, 

/When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowi 
season, he supposed it to be, in Osnian's phrase, ' the last of his 
fields ;' and ex^essed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the 
inuirs. On this hint the Author composed his Elegy and Epitaph. 
g A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide 
the Ordination, stanza II. A Sprained. 

t Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at 
that time ailing. For him, see also the Ordination, stanza IX. 
k Worse. I Every. 

»n Weep alone. n Clothe her cliildren. 

o A young child. p Rent, paid in fowls. 

q Hang. r In sorrowful posture. 

* An awkward blow. / A large pond, or sheet of wa'.er. 

u Those who play at the game of curling.— Curling is a game 
of high celebrity in Scotland, and in some degree resembles the 
g^roe of coits, or bowls. — An iron pin, called a cock, is driven 
into the ice as a mark, at which heavy pieces of stone (with an 
iron handle fixed in the upper part, and having a flat and smooth 
surface at the bottom, so as to glide on the ice) are hurled.— 
ITie party who lodge their stones nearest to the cock, are the 
victors. 



ELEGIES. 261 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cockl* 

Tarn Samson 's dead 1 

He was the king o'a'the core, 

To guard, or draw, or wick" a bore, 

Or up the rinky like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score,« 

Tarn Samson 's deed ! 

Now safe the stately sawmont* sail. 
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail, 

And geds^ for greed,*^ 
Since dark in death's fish-creel^ we wail 

Tam Samson dead ! 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks^ a' ; 

Ye cootie*^ muircocks crousely craw ;S 

Ye maukins,'' cock your fud fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa', 

Tam Samson 's dead ! 

That waefu' morn be ever mourn'd. 
Saw him in shootin' graith'' adorn'd. 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tam Samson 's dead ! 

In vain auld age his body batters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 

w The winning place in curling. 

X To strike a stone in an oblique direction. 

y The course of the stones at the eanie of curling'. 

Z A "kind of distance line, in curling, drawn across the rink, 

a Salmon. b Pike. c Greediness. 

d Fish-basket. e Partridg-es. 

/'Birds which have feathers on the legs are said to be cooUci 

g Crow couraereously. h Hares. 

t Cock your tail handsomely. k Accoutrements. 



262 BURNS' POEMS. 

In vam the burns' came down like waters 

An acre braid !™ 
Now every auld wife, greetin'" clatters, 
' Tarn Samson 's dead !' 

Owre many a weary hag® he limpit P 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

VVi' deadly feide ;i 
Now he proclaims, wi' touf o' trumpet, 

* Tarn Samson 's dead !* 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger, 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
* Lord, five !'* he cry'd, and owre did stagger j 

Tam Samson 's dead I 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
] Ik sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 

* Tam Samson 's dead ! 

There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs' her nest. 

To hatch an' breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he '11 them molest ! 

Tam Samson 's dead 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

I Rivulets. m Broad. n Crying. 

o A scar or gulf in mosses or moors. 

p Limped, or hobbled. q Feud, enmity. r Blaat. 

I An exclamation at finding he hrd kiUed fire bird*. 

< Builds. 



ELEGIES. 2C 

O' pouther an' lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

* Tarn Samson '& dead !' 

Heav'n rest his saul, where'er it be ! 
Is the wish o' monie mae" than me j 
He had twa faults, or maybe three. 

Yet what remead V 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tarn Samson 's dead ! 

IHE EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies 
Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 

If honest worth in heaven rise. 
Ye '11 mend or ye win" near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go Fame, and canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' KilUe,y 
Tell every social, honest billie^ 

To cease his grievin'. 
For yet, \:nskaith'd* by Death's gle^ gullie,' 

Tarn Samson 's livin'. 

ON A SCOTTISH BARD, 

Gone to tlie West Indies. 

A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, 
A* ye wha live by crambo-clink,«^ 
A' ye wha live and never think. 

Come, mourn wi' me ! 
Our billie 's gien"^ us a' the jink,* 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him, a' ye rantin' core, 
Wha dearly like a random splore,' 

w Many more. w Remedy. x Get. 

y Kilmarnock. z Honest fellow. a Unhurt. 

b bharp knife. c Rhymes, do^grel versei. 

d Given. « A dodge. / A frolic 



264 BURNS' POEMS. 

Nae mair he '11 join the merry roar. 

In social key ; 
For now he *s taen anither shore, 

An' owre the sea. 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss? him. 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearfu' e e ; 
For weel I wat they '11 sairly miss him. 

That 's owre the sea. 

O Fortune ! they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou taen afF some drowsy bummle,'' 
Wha can do nought but fyke* an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg'' as onie wumble,' 

That 's owre the sea. 

Auld cantie Kyle'" may weepers wear. 
And stain them wi' the saut," saut tear, 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear. 

In flinders" flee j 
He was her laureate monie a year 

That's owre the sea. 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor'-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jilletP brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! V 

So, took a birth afore the mast. 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune s cummock,*! 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,'^ 
AVi' his proud, independent stomach. 
Could ill agree ; 

g Wish. h A blunderer. t Trifle. k Sharp, ready. 

I Wimble. wi A district in Ayrshire. n Salu 

Broken piece*. p Jilt. q Rod, or stalf. 

r Raw meal and water. 



ELEGIES. 2r»5 

So, row d" his hurdles* in a hammock. 
An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguidin'. 
Yet coin his pouches" wad na bide in j 
\Vi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it free ; 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in. 

That 's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel. 
An' hap'* him in a cozie biel :* 
Ye '11 find him ay a dainty chiel, 

And fou o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, 

That 's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie ! 
^ our native soil was right ill-willie jJ 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonniely I 
I '11 toast ye in my hindmost gillie,' 

Tho' owre the sea. 

FXEGY ON THE YEAR 1783. 

January 1, 789. 

For lords or kings I dinna mourn. 
E'en let them die— for that they're born ! 
But, oh ! prodigious to reflect, 
A towmont,* sirs, is gans to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire 's tint** a head. 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's<= dead j 

i Rolled, wrapped. t Loins, or backside. u Pockitu 

to To wrap, to cover. a: Snug' shelter. 

w Ill-natured, malicious. r Dirain. of Gill. 

a Twelvemonth. Lost c Name for a dog. 

N 



16 BURNS' POEMS. 

The toolzie's*! teugh*' 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
An' our gudewife's wee birdie cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's dour,*" has nae sic breedin', 
But better sturi ne'er claw'd a midden.? 

Ye ministers, come mount the pulpit, 
An' cry till ye be hearse an' rapit j** 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
And gied' you a' baith gear'' an' meal ; 
E'en monie a plack,' an' monie a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck !"* 

Ye bonnie lasses dight" your een, 
For some o' you hae tint a frien' : 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was taen 
What ye '11 ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt** an' sheep. 
How dowffP an' dowiei now they creep , 
Nay, ev'n the yirth"" itself does cry. 
For E'nbrugh wells are grutten* dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn. 
An' no owre auld, i hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care ! 
Thou now hast got thy daddie's chair ; 
Nae hand-cuff'd, muzzl'd, half-shackl'd regent, 
But, like himsel', a full, free agent. 
Be sure to follow out the plan 
Nae waur* than he did, honest man ! 
As muckle better as you can. 



d Quarrel. e Obstinate. / Inflexible, unbending. 

^ Dunghill. h Hoarse. 

i Gave. k Goods, effects. 

{ An old coin, the third part of a Scotch penny. 

m Value, or consideration. n Wipe. 

Black cattle. p Pithless. 7 Worn with grief. 

r Earth. s Wept / Worsfc. 



ELEGIES. 267 

EI.tGY ON THE 

DEATH OF ROBERT HUISSEAUX.* 

Now Robin lies In liis last lair/* 

He '11 gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him j 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert" care, 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fashty him ; 
Except the moment that tliey crusht him ; 
For sune as chance or fate had husht 'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Then wi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em, 

An' thougiit it sport. — 

Though he was breii to kintra' wark, 
And counted was baith wight and stark,* 
Yei that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn'd and dark,'' 

Ye roos'd him then ! 

ELl.GY ox THE 

DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON, 

A favourite Mare belcnifin:? to Mr. W. Nirol, of Hie Hijrh School, 
Edinburgh— the ' VVillie' lliat * bicw'il a J'tck o' Maul.' 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 

As ever trode on airn f 
But now slie 's floating down the Nith, 

An' past the Mouth o' Cairn.'* 
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

An' rode tiiro' thick an' thin ; 

K Ruisseaux— a play ou his own name. 

to A place for lying down. x Cross, ill-coiidilioped. 

p Troubled. z Country. a Strong, poweifuit 

b Learned and clever. 

c Iron. d A tributary stream of the Nilh. 



208 BURNS' POEMS. 

But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
An' wanting even the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 

An' ance she bare« a priest ; 
But now she 's floating down the Nith, 

For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 
An' the priest he rode hersair; 

An' meiicle' oppress'd an' bruised she was. 
As priest-rid cattle are. 



EPIGRAMS, &c. 
EPIGRAM 

On Elpliinstone's traiislalion of INIartial's Epi^ramfc 

O THOU whom Poetry abhors, 
Whom Prose has turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan — proceed no further, 
*Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murder. 

EXTEMPORE, WRITTEN IN A LADY'S 
POCKET BOOK. 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give : 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air. 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 

VERSES 

Written on the windows of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries. 

The grey-beard, old Wisdom, may boast of his 
treasures. 

Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures. 

But Folly has raptures to give. 

c Did bear. /Miicli. 



EPIGRAMS, &c. 260 

• ... 

I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us j 

In wars at hame I '11 spend my blood. 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore, 

Are social Peace and Plenty ; 
I 'm better pleas'd to make one more. 

Than be the death of twenty. 

In politics if thou would'st mix. 

And mean thy fortunes be ; 
Bear this in mind, ' Be deaf and bhnd. 

Let great folks hear and see.' 

EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN GROSE. 
The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying. 
So whip ! at the summons, old Satan cam.e flymg i 
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay 

moaning, 
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groanmg, 
Astonish'd, confounded, cry'd Satan, ' By G—d, 
I '11 want 'im ere I take such a damnable load ! 

EXTEMPORE, 

In answer to an Invitation to spend an hour at a Tavern. 

The King's jnost humble servant, I 

Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
But I '11 be wi' you by and bye ; 

Or else the Dell 's be in it. 

/•Mr. Grose was excceilingly corpulent, and iiscl to rally l'ims?lf. 
will llie L'reatest good liun.onr, on Die sin-ular rounuuty of l.is 
nffurc.'H.is Episram, •ATilien by Burns in, a moment of fe»- 
Wiiv! wasso miicf. relished by if.e an-nuanan. that I'c n:aue it 
ierve as an excise for prolon-ing the convivial occumou thalgav« 
it birth to a very late hour. 



270 BURNS' POEMS 



EPIGRAM. 

[Burns, accompanied by a friend, having gone to Inverary at « 
time when some company were there on a visit to the Duke ol 
Arjryll, liiidiiig himself entirely neglected by l^e inn-kee^«er, 
wliose attention was occupied by tlie visitors of liis Grace, ex- 
pressed liis disapprobation of liio inciviliiy with wliich they vver» 
treated in the following lines.] 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns liere, 

1 pity much his case, 
Unless he comes to wait upon 

The Lord, their God, liis Grace. 

There 's naething here but Highland pnde. 

And Highland scab and hunger j 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in an anger. 



A VERSE 

hor, oil taking le 
House iii ilie Highlands, by whom he had been hospuably en- 



Presented, by the Author, on taking leave, to the Master of a 
llie Highlands, by whom he 



When Death's dark stream 1 ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come ; 

In heaven itself, I 'II ask no more, 
Than just a Highland welcome. 



THE TOAST. 

Written with a diamond pencil on a ^lass tumbler, and presented 
to Miss Jes«iy I.ewars, now Mrs. Tl.omsr.iv Uiimfries; a de- 
servedly great favourite of Ihe I'oet's, and a kind and soothing 
friend W Mrs. Burps at the time of nis death.] 

Fii.T. me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame. 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast, 
Thou hast given a peerless toast* 



EPIGRAMS, &c. 271 

EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

[The same Lady complainini? of some slight indisposition, Burns 
tcld her he sliould take care to have an Epitaph ready for lief 
in case of the worst, wliicli he liliewise wrote on a glass tumbler, 
tc make a pair with the other, as follows :] 

Say, sages, what 's the charm on earth. 

Can turn Death's dart aside 1 
It is not purity and worth. 

Else Jessy had not died. 

ON HER RECOVERY. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth. 

The natives of the sky. 
Yet still one Seraph 's left on earth, 

For Jessy did not die. 

TO THE SAME. 

About the end of May, 1796, the Sur<;eon who attended Burns io 
his last illness, happened to call on him at the same timt; with 
Miss Jessy Lewars. In the course of conversation Mr. Brown 
mentioned, that he had been to see a collection of wild beasts 
just arrived in Dumfries. By way of aiding- his description, he 
took the advertisement (containing a list of the animals to 
be exhibited) from his pocket. As he was about to hand it to 
Miss Lewars, the Poet took it out of his hand, and with some 
red ink standing beside him, wrote on the back of the advertiac 
inent the following lines. 

Talk not to me of savages 

From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my hearty 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 

But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight, 
Not ev'n to view the heavenly choir. 

Would be so blest a sight. 

LINES 

Written on the back of a Bank Note. 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf. 
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief ; 
For lack o' thee I Ve lost my lass. 
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 



272 BURNS' POEMS. 

I see the children of affliction 
Unaided, through thy curs'd restriction. 
I 've seen th' oppressor's cruel smile 
Amid his hapless victim's spoil : 
And for thy potence vainly wish'd, 
To crush the villain in the dust. 
For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd shore. 
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more. 

Kyle. R.B. 

LINES ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR. 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times. 
Been, Jeany Scott, as thou art. 

The bravest heart on English ground 
Had yielded like a coward. 

LINES 

On boingr asked, why God had made IVMss Davles so little, 

and Mrs. ♦ * * so large. 

IVriltcii on a pane of glass in the Inn at Moffat. 

Ask why God made the gem so small, 
And why so huge the granite 1 

Because God meant mankind should set 
The higher value on it. 

LINES 

Written under the picture of the celebrated Miss Bunuw 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess; 

True it is, she had one failing — 
Had a woman ever less. 

LINES 

Written and presented to Mrs. Kenible, on seeing 
her in the character of Yarico. 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 
Of Moses and his rod j 



EPIGRAMS. &c. 2T3 

At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 
The rock with tears had flow'd. 
Dumfrlea Theatre, 1794. 

LINES 

Written on a window at the King's Arm* Tavern, Dumfries. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
Gainst poor Excisemen 1 give the cause a hearing . 
"W hat are your landlords' rent-rolls 1 taxing ledgers 
What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty 

guagers : 
Nay, what are priests 1 those seeming godly 

wisemen ; 
What are they, pray 1 but spiritual Excisemen . 

VERSES 

Written on a window of the Inn at Carron. 

We cam na here to view your warks 

In hopes to be mair wise. 
But only, lest we gangs^ to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 

But when we tirl'd'' at your door. 
Your porter dought na' hear us ; 

Sae may, should we to hell's yetts'' come, 
Your billy' Satan sair"" us ! 

TO DR. MAXWELL, 

On Miss Jessy Staig-'s Recovery. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 

That merit I deny — 
You save fair Jessy from the grave ! 

An angel could not die. 



Go. 


h Knocked. 


t Was untble to. 


Oate^ 


I Brother. 

N2 


TO Serve. 



274 BURNS' POEMS. 

EPiGHAM ON A 

HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE. 
O Death ! hadst thou but spar'd his life, 

Whom we this day lament ; 
We freely wad exchang'd the wife. 
And a' been weel content. 

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his grafF," 

The swap" we yet will do't ; 
Talc you the carlin'sP carcase aff. 

Thou 'se get the saul to boot. 

ANOTHER. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell. 
When deprived of her husband she loved so well. 
In respect for the love and aifection he 'd shewn her. 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up the 

powder. 
But Queen N*******^ of a different complexion. 
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction. 
Would have eat her dead lord on a slender pretence. 
Not to shew her respect, but — to save the expense. 

A TOAST 

[At a meeting of the Dumfries-shire Volunteers, held to comme- 
morate the Anniversary of Rodney's Victory. April 12, 1782: 
Burns w<is called upon tor n song, instead of wtiicn he delivered 
the following lines extempore.] 

Instead of a song, boys, I '11 give you a toast — 
Here 's the memory of those on the twelfth that we 

lost ; [found, . 

That we lost, did I say 1 nay, by Heav'n that we 
for their fame it shall last while the world goes 

round. 
The next in succession, I '11 give you the King-, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing ; 

n Grave. o Exchange. p Stout old woman. 



EPIGRAMS, &c. i7."s 

And here 's the grand fabric, our free Constilution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with politics, not tt> be cramni'd. 
Be anarchy curs'd, and be tyranny d — d I 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal. 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 

IMPROMPTU 

Oil Mrs. R 's birth-day, 4th Nov. 1793. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd : 
' What have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe i 
My cheerless sons no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow : 
My dismal months no joys are crowning. 
But spleeny English hanging, drowning. 

* Now, Jove, for once, be mig'nty civil. 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I 've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 
Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me. 
' 'Tis done I' says Jove ; — so ends my story. 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 

THE LOYAL NATIVES' VERSES.<i 

Ye sons of sedition, give ear to rny song, [throng. 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade every 
With Craoken the attorney, and Mundell the quack. 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack. 

q At this period of our Poet's life, when political animosity 
was made the giciind of private quarrel, the aootc foolish verses 
were sent as an attack on Burns and his friends for their politi- 
cal opinions. The\' wer« written by some member of a club 
styling' themselves the ' Loyal Natives' of Dumfries, or rather by 
the united (?enius of that club, which was more distinsruished for 
drunken loyaltv, than eitner for respectability or poetical talent. 
The verses were handed over the table to Biirns at a conviviaJ 
meeting, and he instantly enJo-sed the subjoined reply. — iie» 
ligues, p. 108. 



276 BURNS' POEMS. 

BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Ye true ' Loyal Natives/ attend to my song, 
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 
From envy and hatred your corps is exempt ; 
But Vi'here is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 

EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSiaN 

On heing appointed to the Excise. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och, ho ! the day 1 
That clarty barm' should stain my laurels, 

But — what '11 ye say 1 
These muvin'* things ca'd wives and weans 
Wad rnuve the very hearts o' stanes ! 

ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT 
OF LORD G. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair? 

Flit, G , and find 

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 

ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou G , 

The Stewarts all were brave ; 
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools 

Not one of them a knave. 

ON THE SAME. 

Bright ran thy line, O G- , 

Thro* many a far-fam'd sire ! 
So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 

So ended in a mire. 

r Dirty ye&t. « Moving. 



EPIGRAMS, &c. 2T7 

TO THE SAME, 

On the Author being threatened with his ResentmenU 
Spare me tliy vengeance G , 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to give. 

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 

Tune. — Gillicrankie. 
LORD A TE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted and he hinted, 
Till in a declamation mist, 

His argument he tint* it ; 
He gap'd for 't, he grap'd for 't, 

He fand it was awa, man ; 
But what his common sense came short. 

He eked it out wi' law, man. 

MR. ER NE. 

Collected Harry stood awee. 

Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man : 
Like wind-driven hail it did assail, 

Like torrents owre a linn,* man ; 
The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 

ON HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOD IM 
THE REV. DR. B 's VERY LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny. 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 

C Lost. « WaterfeU. 



2T8 BURNS' POEMS. 

EXTEMPORE, 

On the late Mr. William Smellie, Author of the Philosophy of 
Natural History, and Member of the Antiquarian and Iloval 
Societies of Edinburgh. 

To Crochallan came 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
*Twas four long nights and days till shaving night j 
His uncomb'd grizly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
Ahead for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd j 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude. 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 

EXTEMPORE, TO MR. SYME,^» 

On rc'fusinjf to dine with him, after having' been promised the 
lirst of company, and tlie (irst of cookery; 17th Dec. 17»5. 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not. 
And cook'ry the first of the nation; 

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit. 
Is proof to all other temptation. 

TO MR. S**E, 

With a Present of a dozen of Porter. 

O, ii.\D the malt thy strength of mind. 
Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 

'I'were diink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en forS**e were fit. 

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 

LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. J. RANKINE, 

Wiiile he occupied the farm of Adamhiil, in Ayrshire. 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl,* 
VV^as driving to the tither warl',? 
A mixtie-maxtie* motley squad. 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 

IV An intimate friend of the Poet's, with whom he made a very 
pleasant tour over tlie counties of Kirkcudbright and Galluwav, In 
July and August, 1793. 
4 Grim old man. y Other world. x Confastdly mixed. 



Black gowns (.f each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station. 
From him that wears the star and garter. 
To him that wintles* in a halter; 
Asham'd himself to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glow'ring at the bitches : 

« By God, 1 '11 not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual corps present them, 
Without at least ae honest man, 
To grace this damn'd infernal clan.' 

By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
' Lord God !' quoth he, * I have it now, 
There 's just the man I want, i' faith;' 
And quickly stopped Rankine's breath. 

LINES WRITTEN BY BURNS, 

While on his death-hed, to John Rankine, and forwarded to him 
imaediately ufler the Poet's death. 

He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead, 
And a green grassy hillock hides his head : 
Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 



EPITAPHS. 



EPITAPH FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 
O YE, wliose cheek the tear of pity stains, 

Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend ! 
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains. 

The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 
The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

♦ For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.* 

a Swings. * Golasmlth. 



280 BURNS' POEMS. 

INSCRIPTION TO THE MEMORY OP 
FERGUSSON. 

HKRE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET. 
Born September 5lh, 1750.— Died 16th October, 1774. 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
' No storied urn nor animated bust,' 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 

FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 
Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name' 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 

A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre*^ fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate^ to seek, owre proud to snool',* 

Let him draw near; 
And owre*^ this grassy heap sing dool,5 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song. 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 

That weekly this area throng, 

O pass not by ! 
But with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here heave a sigh. 

I? there a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs himself life's mad career, 

"Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear. 

Survey this grave. 

e Too. d Dashrul. e To submit tamclv, to sneak. 

/Oter. j^ To lanifcnt, to'] 



EPITAPHS. 281 

The poor inhabitant below. 

Was quick to learn and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softer flame. 
But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his name. 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole. 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit', 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-control, 

Is wisdom's root. 

ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest. 
As e'er God with his image blest ; 
The friend of man, the fi iend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth : 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform 'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss ; 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 

FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps. 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 
But with such as he, where'er he be. 

May I be sav'd or d d ! 

ON W. NICHOL. 
Ye maggots, feed on NichoKs brain. 

For few sic feasts you 've gotten ; 
And fix your claws in Nichol's heart, 

For deil a bit o 't 's rotten. 

ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINK. 
Lament him Mauchline husbands a'. 
He aften did assist ye ; 



282 BURNS' POEMS. 

For had ye slaid whole weeks awa', 
Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye« 

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 

To school in bands thegither, 
O tread you lightly on his grass, 

Perhaps he was your father ! 

ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE. 

As father Adam first was fool'd, 
(A case that 's still too common,) 

Here lies a man a woman rul'd. 
The Devil rul'd the woman. 

ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 
Bei.ow thir stanes lie Jamie's banes j 

O Death ! it 's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took, such a bleth'rin' bitch, 

Into thy dark, dominion ! 

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

Here souter Will in death does sleep ; 

To hell, if he 's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep. 

He '11 baud it weel thegither. 

ON JOHN DOVE, INN-KEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 
Here lies Johnnie Pidgeon — 
What was his religion, 
Whae'er desires to ken. 
To some other war)' 
Maun follow the carl, 
For here Johnnie Pidgeon had nane* 

Strong ale was ablution, 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento 7nori ; 
But a full-flowing bowl 
Was the savmg his soul. 
And port was celestial glory. 



EPITAPHS. 283 

ON WEE JOHNNIE. 

Kic jacet xvee Johnnie. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, 
That death has murder'd Johnnie ! 

And here his bodif lies fu' low— 
For said he ne'er had onie! 

ON J Y B Y, WRITER IN DUMFRIES. 

Here lies J y B y, honest man! 

Cheat him, Devil, if you can, 

ON A PERSON NICKNAMED THE xMARQUIS, 

Who desired Burns to write one on him. 

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were 
If ever he rise it will be to be d — d. [shamm'd, 

ON A SCHOOL MASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, 
FIFESHIRE. 

Here lie Willie M — hie's banes, 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schulin''> of your weans;* 

For clever Deils he '11 mak 'em ! 

FOR MR. GABRIEL RICHARDSON, 

Brewer, Dumfries : (but who, much to the satisfaction of his 
friends, has not yet needed one, 1819.) , 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire 's extinct, 

And empty all his barrels : 
He 's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink 

In upright honest morals. 

ON WALTER S . 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave. 
That the worms e'en d — d him 

When laid in his grave. 
h Educating. iCbildreB^ 



284 BURNS' POEMS. 

In his flesh there 's a famine, 

A starv'd reptile cries ; 
And nis heart is rank poison, 

Another replies. 

ON A LAP-DOG NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng. 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of song. 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around. 
Scream your discordant joys ; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



BANNOCK-BURN. 

ROBERT BRUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

' I am delighted.' savs Burns to Mr. Thomson, ' with many little 
melodies which the learned musician despises as silly and in- 
sipid. I do not know whether the old air ' Hey tuttie tattie,' 
may rank among this number; but well I know that, with 
Frazer's haulboy, it has filled my eyes with tears. There is a 
tradition, which I have met witti in many places of Scotland, 
that it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock- 
burn. This thought, in ray solitary wanderings, warmed me to 
a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and independ- 
ence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the 
air, that one might suppose to be the gallant royal Scot'i 
sddress to his heroic followers on that eventful morning.' 

Tune.— ^ey tuttie tattie. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled ; 
Scots, wham'' Bruce has aften led j 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victorie." 

ft Whom. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 285 

Now 's the day, and now 's the hourj 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slaverie ' 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee I 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa*? 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains! 
By your sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 
Let us do, or die ! ' 

THE SAME. 

As altered, at the sugTCstion of Mr. Thomson, to «uit 
tlie air of' Lewie Gordon.' 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled ; 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ! 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Edward ! chains and slaverie I 

I This verse Is chiefly borrowed from Blind Harry's Wallace: 
' A false usurper sinks in jvery foe. 
And Liberty returns with every blow.* 



280 SONGS AND SALLAD3. 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha can lili a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ' 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa' 1 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains 
By your sons in servile chains ' 
We will drain our dearest veins. 

But they shall be — shall be free ' 

Lay the proud usurpers low 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 

Forward ! let us do, or die ! 



AULD LANG SYNE 

burns gave tliis soiif to tlie public as a production of the ' oldea 
time ;' but it wtus afterward discovered to be liis own. 

Auld Langr Syne' owes allits attractions, if it owes rot ft« 
orisrin, to tlie muse of Burns. So exquisitely has the poet eked 
out the old wit!» the new, that it would puzzle a very profound 
ontiquary to separate the ancient from the modern. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And never brought to min' ! 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o' lang syne 1 



For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lung sy7ie. 
We *U tak a cup o ' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 287 

We twa hae run about the braes. 

And pu'd the gowans'» fine ; 
But we 've wander'd mony a weary foot, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &;c. 

We twa hae paidl'to i' the buru,P 

Frae mornin' sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd. 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

Far auld lang syne, 4''^. 

And here 's a hand, my trusty fier,*l 

And gie 's a baud o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right guid-willie waught,' 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, ^c. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp. 

As sure as I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, ^c. 

DAINTY DAVIE. 

• Dainty Davie' is the title of an old son? from which Burns 
iias taken nothing but the name anj the measure. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers j 
And now comes in my happy hours. 
To wander wi' my Davie. 



Meet me on the warlock knowe. 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 

There 1 'II spend the day wi' you. 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

n Wild daisies. o To wade, or walk in the water. 

p Rivulet. 9 Friend r Liberal draught. 



288 SONGS AND BALLADS 

The crystal waters round us fa'. 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wanderini^ wi' my Davie. 
Meet me, ^c. 

When purple morning starts the hare • 

To steal upon her early fare. 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, ^c. 

When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I 'Jl flee to his arm? I lo'e best. 
And that 's my ain dear Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Bonnie Davie, daintie Davie, 

There I'LL spend the day v^i' you. 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

BEHOLD THE HOUR, THE BOAT ARRIVE. 

•September, 1793. I have this moment finished the soncf for 
Oran Gaoil, so yon have it glowinp^ from die mint. If it suit 
jou, v.'til !— if not, 'tis also v/ell.'—Burits to Thomson. 

Tune. — Oran Gaoil. 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive; 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive 1 

But fate has will'd, and we must part. 
I '11 often greet this surging swell, 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
* E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.* 

Along the solitary shore. 

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 289 

Across the rolling, dashing roar 

I '11 westward turn my wistful eye ; 
Happy, thou Indian grove, 1 '11 say. 

Where now my Nancy's path may be ; 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O tell me, does she muse on me ? 

THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. 

• t flnclose you the music of ' Fee him Father,' with tw«t 
versen, which I composed at the time in which Patie Allan's 
mtther died, that was about tlie back o' midniijlit, and by the lee- 
tide of a bowl of punch, whicli had overset every iiiortal in coiu- 
paaj except the hautbois and the mwsic.'—Bnins to T/toiiison. 
Tune.— Ae iiitn Father. 

Tilou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Thou last left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever, 
Now thou 'st left thy lass for ay — 

I maun see thee nevei', Jamie, 
I '11 see thee never. 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo. 

While my heart is breaking, 
Soon my weary een 1 '11 close — 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Never mair to waken. 

FAIR JENNY.* 

Tune. — Saw ye my Father f 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning 
That danced to the lark's early song? 

Where is the peace tliat awaited my wand'ring. 
At evening the wild woods among ! 

to Written for Mr. TlioiiisoM's t'oilcciioji, ti- wXww tlie port 
() 



290 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

No more a- winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair ; 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer 's forsaken our valleys. 

And grim, surly winter is near 1 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover. 
Yet long, long too well have I known, 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal. 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment I '11 seek in my wo. 

DELUDED SWAIN, &c. 

In a letter to Mr. Tliomson, enclosing this soiitj, Gurni 
q lainlly calls it * an old bacchanal.' It is, however, well known 
to be one of his own. 

Tune.— TAe Collier's DochUr. 

Deluded swain, the pleasure 
The fickle Fair can give thee, 

Is but a fairy treasure, 

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 

The billows on the ocean, 

The breezes idly roaming, 
The clouds' uncertain motion. 

They are but types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed, 
To doat upon a feature ? 

thus speaks concernin t^ it. " I have finished niv son^ to ' Saw ye 
my Faiher !' and in Enijlish, as you will see. There is a syllable 
loo much f'jr tlu; expression of the air, but the mere dividing of 
a dot let' crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver, is no great matter. 
Of the poetry, I speak with confidence ; but the music is a business 
»here t hint my ideas with the utmost diffidpflce." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 291 

If man thou wouldst be named. 
Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee ; 
Hold on till thou art mellow. 

And then to bed in glory. 

TO ANNA. 

Written on the ' Anna' of the gong be^nnlng-* 
* Yestreen I had a pint o' wine.' 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire. 
And waste my soul with care ; 

But, ah ! how bootless to admire. 
When fated to despair ! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, 

To hope may be forgiv'n ; 
For sure 'twere impious to despair, 

So much in sight of Heav'n. 

ANNA. 

Burns considered this to be the best love song he ever composed. 
The Postscript, whicl» former Editors have suppressed, is here 
restored. 

Tune.— Banks of Banna. 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The raven 'ocks of Anna : 
The hungry Jew, in wilderness, 

Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
Was naething to my honey bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs, take the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ; 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna, 



292 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

( Then I '11 despise imperial charms. 

An empress or sultana : 
While dying raptures in her arms, 
1 give and take wi' Anna. 

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day 1 

Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When 1 'm to meet my Anna ! 
Come in thy raven plumage, night j 

Sun, moon, and stars, withdraw a* ! 
And bring an angel pen, to write 

My transports wi' my Anna. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

The kirk and state may join, and tell 

To do such things 1 manna : 
The kirk and state may gae to h-11. 

And I '11 gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine o' my e'e. 

To live but her^ 1 canna ; 
Had I on earth but wishes three. 

The first should be my Anna. 

THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

One of oiir Poel's earliest productions.— J. G. LockhurF* 
Life of Bums, 

Tune. — Corn rigs are bonnie. 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie. 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa' to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed. 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed. 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 
The moou was shining clearly ; 

s Witliout Iter. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 208 

1 set her down \vi' right good will 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 
I kent her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely ! 
My blessings on that happy place 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 
But by the moon and stars sae bright, 

That shone that hour sae clearly ! 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear j 

I hae been merry drinking ; 
I hae been joyfu' gathering gear ; 

1 hae been happy thinking ; 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Though three times doubled fairly. 
That happy night was worth them a' 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs fl?i' barley rigs, 

And corn rigs are bonnie ; 
I'LL neer forget that huppy night 

Amang the rigs ivi' Annie 

THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

The lady, in honour of whose blue eyes this fine »ong wa« 

written, was Miss Jeffrey, of Lochm;iben, now (1825) residing at 

New York, in America— a wife and a mothnT.— -Allan Ctmniagham, 

Tune. — The blat/irie o'l, 

I GAED^ a waefu' gate'^ yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I 'II dearly i-ue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 

e Went. d Way, manner, road. 



294 SONGSAND BALLADS. 

'Tvvas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew — 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd,* 

She charm'd my soul, I wist na how ; 
And aye the stound,*^ the deadly wound. 

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed j 

She '11 aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I '11 lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 

BLYTHE WAS SHE. 

Tune.— ^77(/ro and his cutty gun. 

rhis song' wa-s written during a visit of the Poet at Oclitertyre 
with Sir William Murray. The laiiy, whom it celebrates, and 
wlio was tliere at the time, was Alisi Euphemia Murray, of 
Lentrose. Slie was called, by way of eminence, the Flower 
of Strathmore. The chorus is from an old song of the same 
tueeisure. 

CHORUS. 

BCythe, blythe, and merry teas she, 

Blythe was she but and hen ;ff 
Blythe by the banks of Ern, 
And blythe in Glenturit glen 
By Oclitertyre grows the aik,** 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw j* 
But Fhemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blythe, &c. 

Her looks were like a flow'r in M?y, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blythe, &c. 

« Beeruiled. 

/A shooting pa1n> g The country kitchen and parlour. 

k Oak. t A small wood. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 295 

Her bonnie face, it was as meek 

As onie lamb upon a lee ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 
As was the blink of Phemie's e'e. 
Blythe, &c. 

The Highland hills I 've wander'd wide. 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blythest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blythe, &c. 

DECEMBER NIGHT. 

Tliis son? was first printed in Johnson's ' Musical Museum.' 
•The contrast of the first and last verses,' says an eminent 
Critic and Poet, ' is very great, yet very natural. The Poet 
imagines himself warmed with wine, and seated among his com- 
panions, to whom he announces, as the glass goes roundL the at- 
tractions of his mistress, and his good fortune in her affections. 
His confidence goes no farther;— the name of his love is not to 
be told ; and for this poetical tyranny there is no remedy.' 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet. 

As the mirk* night o' December; 
For sparkling v/as the rosy wine, 

And private was the chamber : 
And dear was she I dare na name. 

But I will ay remember. 
And dear was she, &c. 

And here 's to them, that like oursel. 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here 's to them that wish us weel. 

May a' that 's good watch o'er them j 
And here 's to them we dare na tell. 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here 's to them, &c. 

I Park. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS. 

•This Bor.g: ! composed on one of the most accomplished o» 
women, Miss Pt'^g7 Clialniers that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hav, of 
Forbes and Co.'s Banii, Edinburgh.'— 2f urn* ' Ecliqucs. 
Tui\e.— Neil Gow's Lament for Ahcrcairney. 

WiiKUE braving angry winter's storms. 

The lofty Ochils rise. 
Far in the "shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes : 
As one who by some savage stream 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam. 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 
Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade. 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey 'd— 

When first I felt their power ! 
The tyrant Death, with grim control. 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 

TAM GLEN. 

Burns submitted this son? to several of his friend<j as a lyric 
of the olden time, and heard it praised- before he adinowledged 
it his own. The old ' Tarn Glen,' however, has assisted botJi 
In liie conception and expression of the new. 

Tune.— r/ie mucking o' GcordieU byre. 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie,* 
Some counsel unto me come len' ;P 

To anger them a' is a pity. 

But what will 1 do wi' Tarn Glen ? 

I 'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow. 
In poortithi I might mak a fen':"" 

What care I in riches to wallow. 

If I mauna' marry Tam Glen 1 

o A (e.nr:ale confidante. y Lend. c Poverty. 

T Fend— to live comfortably. ' * Must not. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 207 

There 's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, 

' Gude day to you, brute,' he comes ben :* 
He brags and he bJaws o' his siller, 
J But when will he dance like Tarn Glen ? 

My minnie" does constantly deave^ me, 
And bids me beware o' young men : 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glenl 

My daddie says, gin* I '11 forsake him. 

He'll gie me gude hundery marks ten j 
But, if it 's ordain'd I maun^ take him, 

wha will I get but Tam Glen 1 

Yestreen,* at the valentines' dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten ;*• 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written, * Tam Glen !* 

The last Halloween I was waukin'^ 
My droukit^ sark^-sleeve, as ye ken. 

His likeness cam up the house staukin'. 
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen ! 

Some counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; 

1 '11 gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Giff ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 

YOUNG JOCKEY. 

First published in the Relinues, from a copy communicated 
to the editor, by R. Kiddel, Esq. of Glenriddel. 

YouNO Jockey was the blythest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud,S 

Fu' lightly danced he in the ha' ! 

< Into the parlo.ur. u Mother, ro To deafen. 

*If. y An hundred. s Must. a Yesternight. 

* To rise or rear like a horse. c Stiffeninsr, or thickeninKb 

d Wet. e Shirt. /If. 

g Plough. 

O 2 



298 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

He roos'd' my een sae bonnie blue, 
He rpos'd my waist sae genty'' sma'; 

And ay my heart came to my mou,- 
When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and sleet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
And o'er the lee™ I look fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen" hameward ca'." 
4nd ay the night comes round again. 

When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
And ay he vows he '11 be my ain 

As lang 's he has a breath to draw. 

BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. 

Tune. — Liggeram cosh. 

*Li»s:eram cosh' is a deli!jht-ful air. I have become such 
an enthusiast about it, that I have made a song- for it, wiiioii 
I think is not in my worst manner. — Letter to Mr, Thomson. 

Blythe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka tliought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae langer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me ; 
Leslie is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I do nocht but glow'r, 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling, 
Underneath the grass green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 

» I'raised. A EWifa;Uiv tormed. tMoutlu 

m Grass fields. »i'<)xt'ii. o Oiife. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

In the first volume of a collection, entitled ' Poetry, Orl 
^nal and Selected^' published by Brash and Reid, of Glasgow 
in 1801, this sons: is inserted, wi'th four additional stanza^ sail 
to be bv Robert Burns. Of these additional stanzas, Dr. Currie 
says, 'Every reader of discernment will see they are by au in- 
ferior hand.' 

John Anderson, my jo,"" John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonnie brow was brent ;• 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow,* 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither. 
And monie a cantie" day, John, 

We 've had wi' ane anither. 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

OLD AGE. 

' iliis Fonsr,' says Allan Cunningham, ' has never been ii fa- 
Touvite. Yoiiili wishes to enjoy the groldcn :ime upon its hands, 
and nje is far from fond of chantinc^ of declining streng^th, white 
pows, and general listlessness.' 

Tune.— rA If death of the Linnet. 

But lately seen in gladsome green 

The woods rejoiced the ^ay, 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled. 

On winter blasts awa ; 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a', 
r Sweetheart. t Smooth l Grey haim. u CheerfuV 



300 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But my white pow.y nae kindly thowe* 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild.a- but buss or bield,'' 

Sinks in time's wint'ry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless pain : 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prune. 

Why com'st thou not again 1 

MARY MORRISON. 

Mary Morrison,' says Burns in a letter to Tnomson, • if 
one of my juvenile works. I do not think it very remarkable, 
either for its merits or demerits.' All his crilics and coninien 
tators, however, ag:ree in thinking it one of the best songs ha 
ever wrote. 

Tune. — Bide ye yet. 

O Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted'^ hour ; 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
How blythely wad I bid the stoure,^ 

A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary INIorrison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string. 

The dance gaed round the lighted ha'/ 
To thee my fancy took its wing — 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
Though this was fair and that was braw.K 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said, amang them a', 

* Ye are na Mary Morrison.' 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 

Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
Whase only faut is loving thee ? 

y Head. z Thaw. a Old a^e. b Wiiliout slu Iter. 
J Appointed. c Dust in motion. '"Hall. g Fine. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 301 

If love for lo /e thou wilt na gie,'' 

At least '/e pity to me shewn ; 
A though*^ ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morrison. 

SWEETEST MAY. 

Altered from Allan Ramsay's song-:— 

' There 's my thumb, I '11 ne'er beguile thee.' 

Tea Tabic Misceliamj, vol. i. p. 70. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; 
Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 
Proof o' shot to birth or money. 
Not the wealthy but the bonnie ; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded, 
In love's silken band can bind it. 

LOVELY NANCY. 

Burns frequently went to the Bible for some of his finevt 
sentiments: the two lines 

' Turn away these eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasure,' 
are almost the same as the following passage in the Son? of Solo- 
mon, chap. ^-i. ver. 5. ' Turn away thiue eyes from me, for theji 
ba' e overcome me.' 

Tunc— rAfi Qiiaher's Wife. 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 

Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 

Ev'ry roving fancy. 
To thy bosom lay my heart, 

There to throb and languish : 
Though despair had wrung its core, 

That would heal its anguish. 
Take away these rosy lips. 

Rich with balmy treasure ; 
Turn away these eyes of love 

Lest I die with pleasure. 
A Give. 



102 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

What is life when wanting love 1 

Night without a morning : 
Love 's the cloudless summer's sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

Tune.— M\/ jo, Janet. 

This sons' was written for Mr. Thomson's collection. " T»il 
me," says Burns in a letter to that gentleman, dated December, 
1793, " how you like my song to ' Jo, Janet.' " 

SHE. 

Husband, husband, cease your strife. 

Nor longer idly rave, sir, 
Though 1 am your wedded wife. 

Yet I am not your slave, sir. 

HE. 

One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Is it man or woman, say. 

My spouse, Nancy] 

SHE. 

If 'tis still the lordly word. 

Service and obedience ; 
1 11 desert my sovereign lord. 

And so, good bye allegiance ? 

HE. 

Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Yet I '11 try to make a shift. 

My spouse, Nancy. 

SHE. 

My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I 'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust. 

Think, think how you will bear it. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 303 

HE. 

I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Strength to bear it will be given. 

My spouse, Nancy. 

SHE. 

Well, sir, from the silent dead. 

Still I '11 try to daunt you ; 
Ever round your midnight bed. 

Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

HE. 

I '11 wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Then all hell will fly for fear. 

My spouse, Nancy. 

POORTITH CAULD. 

This excellent song has never become popular, owing, per- 
haps, to the want of unity between the music and the verse»-Hb« 
air i« lively, the words plaintive. 

Tune. — / had a horse. 

O poonTiTHn cauld and restless love. 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 

Yet poortith a' I could forgive. 
An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 

CHORUS. 

why should Fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining f 
Or why sae sweet a Jiower as love. 
Depend on Fortune's shining t 
This warld's wealth when I think on, 

It's pride, and a' the lave" o 't. 
Fie, fie on silly coward man. 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why should Fate, &e. 
nPorerty. « Rest. 



S04 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Her een, sae bonuie blue, betray 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her owre-word aye, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 

O why should Fate, &c. 

O wha can prudence think upon 

And sic a lassie by him 1 
O wha can prudence think upon. 

And sae in love as I am 1 
O why should Fate, &c 
How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The silly bogles,? wealth and state, 

Can never make them eerie.i 
O why should Fate, &c. 

THE BANKS OF DOON. 

On 'The Banks of Doon,' and near to each other, are the 
house in which the Poet was born, and the ruins of • AUoway'i 
tiild haunted Kirk.' 

Tune. — The Caledonian Hunt's Delight, 

Ye banks and braes o' bonuie Doon, 

How can ye bloom so fresh and fair, 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 
Thou 'It break my heart, thou warbling bird, 

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed — never to return. 
Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its love, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi* lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fause lover stole my rose. 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 
p Hobgoblins. q Afraid. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 305 



BANKS O' BONNIE DOON. 

The reader will perceive that the measure of this copv of the 
* Banks an' Braes o' Bonnie Uoon' differs considerably from 
the foregoing. The Poet was oblig:ed to adapt his words to a 
particular air, and in so doiujr, he lost much of the simplicity 
and beauty which this original version of the song possesses. 

Ye flowery banks o'bonnie Doon, 

How can ye blume* so fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae fu* o' care 1 
Thoul' t break my heart, thou bonnie bird. 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause' luve" was true. 

Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings beside thy mate j 
For sae I sat, and sae I sung, 

An' wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the woodbine twine ; 
An' ilka** bird sang o' its luve. 

An' sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd" a rose, 

Frae afF its thorny tree, 
And my fause luver stawy the rose, 

And left the thorn wi' me. 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

This song has nothing in coramtin with the old licentious bailad of 
the same name, but the first One and part of the third. The 
rest is original. 

Duncan Gray came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
On blythe Yule night when we were fou,« 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't : 

$ Blooni . t False. u Love, w Every. 

* Did pull. V Did steal. t rrunk, o. had bcm drinking* 



306 SONGS AND BALLAD*. 

Maggie coost' her head fu' heigh,* 

Look'd asklent'' and unco skeigh,« 

Gart<* poor Duncan stand abeigh f 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 

Duncan fleech'd/ and Duncan pray*d ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't, 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig.ff 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',** 
Spak o' louping owre a linn ;* 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 

Time and chance are but a tide. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
Slighted love is sair to bide ! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 

* Shall I, like a foo!,' quoth he, 

* For a haughty hizzie die 1 

She may gae to — France for me !* 
Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 

How it comes — let doctors tell. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't, 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings : 
And oh, her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace. 
Ha, ha, the wooing o 't, 

Maggie's was a piteous case. 
Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 



I 



2 Cast, or carried. 'Mfi 

a Full high. 6 Asquint. cVeryprMWU 'H 

d Made. c At a shy distance. /Entreatol. ^3 

fA well-known rock in the frith of Clvde. 
. n< ^^P' '^" '^''* ^yss ^*ere sore and dim. 
«Talked of jumping over a precipice, or waterfLU. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 307 

Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd'' his wrath, 
Nov/ they 're crouse' and cantie"" baith. 
Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 

THE COUNTRY LASSIE. 

' I wish Burns had written more of his sonffs ia this lively aod 
dramatic w.iy. The enthusiastic affection of ilie maiden, and the 
suspicious care and antique wisdom of the " dame of wrinkled 
eild," animate and lengthen the song without making it tedious. 
" Robie" has indeed a faithful and eloquent mistress, who vin- 
dicates true love and poverty against all the insinuations of one 
whose speech is spiced with very pithy and biting proverbs.' 

Allan Cunningham. 
Tunc. — John, come kiss me now. 

In simmer when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field. 
While clover blooms white o'er the lea,** 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ;P 
Blythe Bessy in the milking shiel,*! 

Says, * I '11 be wed, come o 't what will ;' 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,"" 

' O"' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

' It 's ye hae wooers monie ane, 

And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken; 
Then wait a wee,* and cannie wale* 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben :" 
There's Johnnie o* the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It 's plenty beets^ the lover's fire.* 

' For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps* and kye. 

He has nae love to spare for me : 
But blythe 's the blink o' Bobie's ee. 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: 

k Smothered. / Cheerful. m 6entle« 

o The green field. p Every sheltered spot. q SLed. 

r Old age. s Little. t Choose. 

w Plentiful or well-stocked house. i« Add« fuel to. s Ctopk. 



30a SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 
For Buskie-glen and a' his gearJ 

* O thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught ;■ 

The canniest gate,* the strife is sair ;** 
But ay fu '-han't is fechtin' best,*= 

A hungry care 's an unco^ care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae the^ will ; 
Syne® as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.'' 

' O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesomco love, 

The gowd and siller canna buy . 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden love lays on ; 
Content and love brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne 1' 

BESSY AND HER SPINNING WHEEL. 

T\ine.~BoUomof the Punch Bowl. 

Written for Johnson's ' Musical Museum.' Tlie old son^ of 
the * Lass and her Spinning^ Wheel,' though animated by love, 
must have su°-g:ested lo Bums the idea of this eulogy to household 
thrift. It is a pity that there is now so little to do — in Scotland 
at least— for ' spinning wheels.' 

O LEEZE me' on my spinning wheel, 

leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Erae tap to tae that deeds me bien,*' 
And haps me fiel' and warm at e'en ' 

1 '11 set me down and sing and spin. 
While laigh"* descends the simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinning wheel. 

y Wealth. x Fight. a Gentlest manner. h Sore. 

c 'TisaJways best to fight full-handed. 

d Stranee, or very great. e Since. /Ale. ^PIi 

( A phrase of attachment. k Clotl es me plentifully. 

I Covers me soft. in Low. 



\ 




f^Mi 



I'll set me do^ATO.^ and sing and spLi. 
^Ifh£\c laigh iU'S(-(^\lIjs th.e sinuua.- suu. 
Blest wi' contr' :t . and milk, andiueal- 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 309 

Oa ilka" hand the burnies" trot, 
And meet below my theekitP cot ; 
The scented birki and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest. 
And little fishes' caller rest ;' 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel,* 
Where blythe I turn my spinning wheel 

On lofty aiks' the cushats" wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
■[^he lintwhites^'' in the hazel braes,* 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craiky amang the claver* hay. 
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley,* 
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,'' 
Amuse me at my spinning wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon*^ distress, below envy, 
O wha would leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ] 
Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel 1 

BONNIE JEAN. 

'he heroine of this ballad was Miss M. of Dumfries. She is not 
painted in the rank which she held in life, but in the dress aB4 
character of a cottager. 

There was a lass, and she was fair. 

At kirk and market to be seen. 
When a' the fairest maids were met. 

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

n Every. o Rivulets. p Thatched. q Birch-tree. 

r Cool. s Shade. t Oaks. u Doves. v Unnetfc 

M The slope of a hill. y The landrail. z Clover. 

a Pasture ground. 6 Shed. c Above. 



Sm SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And ay slie wrought her mammie's wark. 

And ay she sang sae merrilie ; 
The blythest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers. 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 
And wanton naiges' nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst," 

He danced wi' Jeanie on the down : 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint,^ her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom of the stream 
.The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en. 

So, trembling, pure, was tender love, 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain j 

Yet wist na what her ail might be. 
Or what wad mak her weel again. 

But did na Jeannie's heart loup* light, 
And did na joy blink in her ee. 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
Ae e'enin' on the lily lea 1 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; 

His cheek to her's he fondly prest, 
And whisper'd thus his tale of love ; 

* O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; 
O canst thou think to fancy me 1 

I Horses. u Fair. u- Lest. g Let|k 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 311 

Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot. 
And learn to tent the farm wi' me 1 

* At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
Or naething- else to trouble thee; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' me,* 

Now what could artless Jeanie do 1 

She had nae will to say him na: 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent. 

And love was ay between them twa. 

THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. 

This ballad is founded on an amour of Charles the Second, when 
sculking: in the north, about Aberdeen, in the lime of the usur- 
pation. The lass that made the bed to him was a dausfhter of 
the house of Port Letham, where he was entertained. The 
old verses are greatly inferior to tliis improved version of the 
tory. 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, 

As to the north I took my way, 
The mirksomey night did me enfauld,* 

I knew nae where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met. 

Just in the middle o' my care ; 
And kindly she did me invite 

To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 

And thank'd her for her courtesie ; " 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 
And bade her mak a bed to me. 

She made the bed baith large and wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down ; 

She put the cup to her rosy lips. 

And drank, ' Young man, now sleep ye soun'. 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand. 
And frae my chamber went wi' speed j 

V Darksome. z Enfold. 



812 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But I call'd her quickly back again 

To lay some mair^ below my head. 
A cod'' she laid below my head. 

And served me wi' due respect; 
And to salute her wi' a kiss, 

I put my arms about her neck. 

* Haud aff your hands, young man,' she say* 

• And dinna sae "dncivil be : 
If ye hae onie love for me, 

wrang nae my virginitie !' 

Her hair was like the links o' gowd. 

Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 

Her limbs the polish'd marble stane. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kiss'd her owre and owre again. 
And aye she wist na what to say j 

I laid her between me and the wa'. 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we rose, 

1 thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd. 
And said, * Alas ! ye 've ruin'd me.' 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,* 
While the tear stood twinklin' in her ee; 

I said, ' My lassie, dinna cry. 

For ye ay shall mak the bed to me. 

She took her mither's Holland sheets. 
And made them a' in sarks** to me : 

Blythe and merry may she be. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

• More. 6 A sort of pillow. c Then. d SUrli. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 318 

The bonnic lass made the bed to me, 

The braw lass made the bed to me : 
I 'II ne'er forget till the day I die, 

The lass that made the bed to me ! 

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

This g-entleman was an intimate friend and correspondent 
of tlie Poet's. One of the last letters he wrote, dated from 
Brow Sea-bathin£f Quarters, July 7, 1796, fourteen days before 
his death, was addressed to Mr. A. Cunningham. 

Tune — The Hopeless Lover, 

Now spring has clad the groves in green. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers : 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers : 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrow to forego, 
why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

The trout within yon wimpling^ burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart. 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was ance that careless stream. 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountain dry. 
The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder clifF that grows 
(Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot 

Nae ruder visit knows). 
Was mine ; till love has o'er me past. 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now beneath" the withering blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock? warbling springs. 
And climbs the early sky, 

/ Meandering'* f Lariu 

P 



S14 SONGS AND BALL-IDS. 

Winnowing blythe her Jewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt''- I sorrow's power. 

Until tiie flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows. 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' mo.n and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, ' Hope nae mair V 

What tongue bis woes can tell 1 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spuits dwell. 

CA' THE YOWES TO THE K NO WES. 

The chorus of ihis son? is old. 'The music,' says Burns, in his Re» 
marks on Scottish Songs and Ballads (Reliques), Ms in the true 
Scotch taste.' 

CHORUS. 
Ca' the yowes^ to the knowes,^ 
C<t' them tvhere the heather grows, 
Ca them where the hurnie lows, 
Ml/ bonnie dearie. 

Hark the mavis'' evening sang 
Sounding Ciouden's™ woods amang ; 
Then a faulding" let us gang," 
My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the yowes, &c. 

We '11 gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the yowes, &:c. 

* Heeded. t Ewes. k Small hillocks. / Thi 

m The river Clouden, a tributary stream to the Nith. 
n Folding. o Go. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 315 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine, midnight hours. 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 

Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the yowes, &c. 
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
NochtP of ill may come thee near, ■ 

My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the yowes, &c. 
Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown my very heart , 
I can die — but canna part. 

My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the yowes, &c. 
While waters wimple to the sea ; 
While day blinks in the lifti sae hie 5 
Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee, 

Ye shall be my dearie. 
Ca' the yowes, &c. 



BONNIE MARY. 

<n the notes to Johnson's Museum, Btirns claims all thi» 
as his compositioiu except the first four lines. It is writ 
the old melody, ' The silver tassie.'— The air is Oswald's. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie ;• 
That 1 may drink before I go, - 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier of Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law — 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
The trumpets sound, the banners fly. 

The glittering spears are ranked ready j 

p Nought. q Sky, t C 



310 ft'ONGS AND BALLADS. 

The shouts o' war are heard afar. 
The battle closes thick and bloody • 

But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore 
Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 

Nor shout o' war that 's heard afar, 
It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? 

Tune.— TAff Sutor^s Dochter. 

'I like the miwic of the Siller's Dochter; your verses to it art 
pretty.' — Thomson to Burns. 

Wilt thou be my dearie? 

When sorrow rings thy gentle heait, 
Wilt thou let me cheer thee? 

By the treasure of my soul, 
And that 's the love I bear thee — 

I swear and vow that only thou 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow. 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or, if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou 'It refuse me : 

If it winna, canna be. 
Thou for thine may choose me — 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die. 

Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O 'T. 

First published in the Reliques, from a copy communicated to the 
editor by Mrs. Burns. 

Tune. — When more is meant than meets the ear. 

First when Maggie was my care. 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 317 

Now we 're married — spier nae mair'*— 

Whistle owre the lave o *t.* 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Meg was nature's child — 
Wiser men than me 's beguil'd — 
Whistle owre the lave o 't. 

How we live, my Meg and me. 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 

Whistle owre the lave o *t. 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see 't — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOORt 

The Idea of this song is taken from the 'Auld Man's best Art^o* 
ment' of Allan Ramsay, begiuniii"- i^ 

♦ O wha 's that at my chamber door ! 
Fair widow, are ye waukin' !' 

WiiA is that at my bovver door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate,^ ye 'se nae be here; 

Indeed maun 1, quo' Findlay. 
What make ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye '11 work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

If I rise and let you in — 

Let me in, quo' Findlay; 
Ye 'II keep me waukin'* wi' your din ;•» 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay — • 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

v> Ask no more. r Over the rest of it. r Way. 

a Awake. h Noise. 



318 SONGS AND «ALLADS. 

Here this night if ye remain — 

1 '11 remain, quo' Findlay ; 
I dread ye 'II learn the gate'^ again — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

HONEST POV^ERTY. 

A great critic (Dr. Aiknn) on sont; says, that love and wine are 
tlie exclusive themes for son;j writing-. The following is on 
neitlier subject, and conse((uently is no son^ ; but will be 
allowed to be, 1 think, two or three pretty good prose thought* 
inverted into rhyme.' In this maniier Burns speaks of this witty, 
clever, inascuUne song. 

Tune.— for a' thai and a' that. 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

Wiaa hangs his head, and a' that 1 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea stamp. 
The man 's the gowd*^ for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 
Wear hodden^ grey, and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man 's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that. 

You see yon birkie^ ca'd a lord , 
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that, 

Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 
He 's but a coofff for a' that; 

Road. d Gold. e Hutnble. / Fiae fellow. 

£■ Blockhead. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 519 

For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that j 

The man of independent mmd. 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A manjuis, duke, and a' that ; 
Hut an iionest man's aboon^ his might, 
Guid faith he mauna^ fa' that ! 
For a' tli;it, and a' that, 

'I'iieir dignities, and a' that, 
'i'he pith 0' sense, and pride 0' worth, 
Aie higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
I'hat sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 
May bear the gree.'and a' that. ''^ 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It 's coming yet, for a' that, 
When man to man, the warld o'er. 
Shall brothers be for a' that. 

CAPTAIN GROSE. 

*he following verses were written in an envelope, inclosliiir a 
kUer to Captain Grose, to be left witli Mr. Cardoimel, anti- 
quarian. ' 

Tune.—Sir John Malcolm, 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose 1 

Igo, & ago. 
If he 's amang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he south, or is he north \ 

Igo, & ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth 1 

Iram, coram, dago. 

e He must not try, or attempt Out. 
/The laurel, tlie victory. 



320 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies 1 

I go, & ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis t 

I ram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abraham's bosom gane? 

Igo, &c ago, 
Or haudin' Sarah by the wame 1 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near hira, 

Igo, & ago. 
As for the Deil, he daiir na steerff him, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th' enclosed letter, 

Igo, & ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo, & ago. 
The very stanes that Adam bore. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo, & ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation! 

Iram, coram, dago. 

MY AIN KIND DEARIE O. 

This Is the first son? wliich Burns wrote for Mr. Thomson's col- 
lection. Dr. Currie supposes it to huve been sug-?ested to the 
Poet's fancy by the old song of the ' Ploug-hman,' beginuing— 
* My ploug-hman he comes hame at e'en, 

He's aften weet an' weary. 
Cast aff the weet, put on the dry, 
An' gae to bed my dearie.' 

Tune. — The Lea-rig, 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 
Tells bughtin'-time'^ is near, my jo ; 

g Dare not molest. 
* Tbe time of collecting the sheep in the pens to be milked 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 321 

And owsen' frae the furrow'd field, 
Ketuin sae dowf' and weary O 5 

Down by the burn, where scented bilks 
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 

I '11 meet thee on the lea-rig,' 
jMy ain kind dearie O. 

In mirkest™ glen, at midnight hour, 

1 'd rove, and ne'er be eerie" O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed'^ to thee, 

j\Jy ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And 1 were ne'er sae wearie O, 
1 'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

JMy ain kind dearie O . 

The hunter lo'cs the morning sun,^_ 

To rouse the mountain deer, my: jo : 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin'P grey. 

It maks my heart sae cheery O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie O. 

PEGGY'S CHARMS. 

botli in sentiment and expression. 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. 
The frost of hermit age might warrn ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. 
Might charm the first of human kmd. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair. 
Her native grace so void of art , 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

P 2, 



322 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway 1 
Who but knows they all decay? 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
The generous purpose, nobly dear. 
The gentle look, that rage disarms — 
These are all immortal charms. 

LORD GREGORY. 

This son^ appears to have been sugt^ested to the Poet's fancy, by 
the ' Lass of Lochroyaii,' a very old ballad, a fragment of 
which will be found in Herd's collection, 1774. A copy of it 
still more enlarsed has since been published in the ' Minstrolij 
of th« Scottish Border.' 

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour. 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower. 

Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha'. 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some ■pitij on me shaw.i 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove. 

By bonnie Irwine side, 
When first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied 1 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow. 

Thou wad for aye be mine : 
And my fond heart, itsel sae true. 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thj breast : 
Thou dart of heaven, that flashest by. 

Oh ! wilt thou give me rest 1 

9 Shew. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. b23 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare and pardon my fause love 

His wrangs to heaven and me. 

FRAGMENT. 

These are ei?Lt beautiful lines. They are too few to sln^, too 
good to cast away, and too peculiar and happy ever to be eked 
out by a hand interior to the hand of their Author. They will 
long continue a frag'ment. — Cunningham's Scottish Songs. 

He'K flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O what a feast her bonnie mou ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner ! 

THE BLISSFUL DAY. 

• I composed this song:,' says Burns, 'out of compliment to one 
of the happiest and worthiest married couples in the world- 
Robert Riddel, Esa. of Glenriddel, and his lady. At their fire- 
side I have enjoyeu more pleasant evenincfs than all the houses 
of fashionable people in this country put together; and to their 
k'indness and liospitalily I am indebted for many of the happiest 
hours of my life.' 

Tune. — Seventh of November, 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd. 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes. 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 
Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 

While joys above my mind can move, 
For thee, and thee alone, I live : 



324 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

When that grim foe of life below, 
Comes in between to make us part, 

The iron hand that breaks our band, 
It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 

JEANIE'S BOSOM. 

This is an early composition. It was the first of the Poet's songa 

composecl in praise of ' Bonnie Jean,' afterwards Mrs. liurns. 

Tune. — My molher^s ay gloiv'ring owre me, 

Louis, what reck I by thee. 

Or Geordie on his ocenn : 
Dyvor,"" beggar louns' to me, 

I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

Kings and nations swith' awa 
Kief randies," I di.sown ye ! 

WILLIE'S WIFE. 

This gong is founded on an old border ditty, beginning— 
' Willie Wastie dwells in his castle. 
An' nue a loun in a' the town 
Can tali Willie Wastie doun.' 

Tane.— Tibbie Fowler in the glen. 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkuradoddie ; 

Willie was a wabster^ guid 

Cou'd stown'' a clue wi' onie bodie ; 

He had a wife was dour and din,y 
O, tinkler* Madgie was her mither : 

CHORUS. 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na giea button for her, 

r Bankrupt. * RagamufHns. t Get away. 

u Thievish queans, w Weaver. 

X Stolen — supposed to allude to the dishonest practices cf fontc 
weavers who purloin the yarn that is sent to the loom. 

y Sullen and sallow. z A gipsey womaa. 



SONGS ANI^ BALL.\.DS. 325 

She has an ee, she has but ane 

The cat has twa the very colour 
Five rusty teeth, forbye* a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad cleave^ a miller ; 
A. wluskin' beard about her mou. 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither : 
Sic a wife, &c. 
She 's bow-hough Vl^, she 's hein-shinu'd,"* 

Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed^ shorter ; 
Slie 's twisted right, she 's twisted left. 

To balance fair on ilka^ quarter; 
She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shsuther : 
Sic a wife, &c. 

Auld baudransS by the ingle^ sits. 
And wi' her loot' her face a-washin' ; 

But Willie's wife is iiae sae trig. 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion j'' 

Her walie nieves' like midden-creels,"* 
Her face wad fyle° the Lo^^an water : 
Sic a wife, &c, 

I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. 

The Poet was accustomed to say that the most happv period of 
his life was the first winter he spent at Ellieslaiid,— i^r ilie first 
time under a roof of his own — with liis wife and children about 
him. It is known that he welcomed his wife to her raeftree at 
Eliiesland in thissong-. — Lockhart. 

1 HAE a wife o' my ain, 

I '11 partake wi' naebody ; 
I '11 tak cuckold frae nane, 

I '11 gie cuckold to naebody. 

I hae a penny to spend. 

There — thanks to naebody ; 

o Besides. 
6 Deafen. c Knock-kueed. d I!ony-shinne<i. 

Hand-breadth, / Every. e- The cat. A Fire-placeb 
t Hand. k Cleans her raouth with a cushion. 

i Large flsts. m Dung-baskets. i A lake dirty. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

I hae naething to lend, 
I '11 borrow frae naebody. 

I am naebody 's lord, 

I '11 be slave to naebody j 

I hae a guid braid sw»rd, 
I '11 tak duntsi frae naebody 

I '11 be merry and free, 
I '11 be sad for naebody j 

If naebody care for me, 
I '11 care for naebody. 

BONNIE WEE THING. 

• Composed,' says Burns, ' on my little idol, the 
chanuing-, lovely Davies.' 

Tune.— The Lads of Saltcoats. 

CHORUS. 

Boiuue wee thing, cannie wee thing. 

Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, 

J wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine,' 

Wishfully I look and languish, 
la that bonnie face o' thine ; 

And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Bonnie wee thing, &c. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine : 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine. 
Bonnie wee thing, &c. 

q Blow% r tote 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 327 

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 

The poor and honest Sodger laid hold at once on public feelin:^, 
and it was every where sunt!- with enthusiasm, which only beg^an 
to abate when Caniphell's Exile of Erin and Wounded Hussar 
were published. — Lockkarl's Life of Burns. 

Tune.— The mill, mill, O, 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless, 

And monie a widow mourning, 
I left the lines and tented field, 

Where lang I 'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor but honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder, 
And for fair Scotia hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonny glen. 

Where early life I sported, 
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted ; 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood. 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth T, * Sweet lass, 
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 

O happy, happy may he be 
That's dearest to thy bosom ! 

My purse is light, I 've far to gang, 
And fain would be thy lodger ; 



28 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

X Ve serv'd my king and country lang. 
Take pity on a sodger.' 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever ; 
Quo' she, • A sodger ance I lo'ed ; 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and haraely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it ; 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade. 

Ye 're welcome for the sake o 't.' 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne pale like onie lily, 
She sank v/ithin mine arms and cried, 

'Art thou my ain dear Willie?' 
' By Him who made yon sun and sky, 

J3y whom true love 's regarded, 
I am the man ; and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded ! 

* The wars are o'er, and I 'm come hame, 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear we 're rich in love, 

And mair we 'se ne'er be parted.' 
Quo' she, ' JNIy grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen" plenish'd fairly : 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly !' 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize, 

'J'he sodger's wealth his honour : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. 

Nor count him as a stranger ; 
Remember he 's his country's stay. 

In day and hour of danger, 

u Farm. 



SONGS ,VNU BALLADS. 320 

LOGAN BRAES. 

The title of tliis son j, but nothing mora, is token from the old 
verses on Logan Water, beg^inning — 

Ae simmer ni^ht, on Logan braes, 
I help'd a boiinie lass on wi' lier claes, 
First wi' her stockings, an' syne wi' her shoon— 
But she gied me the giaiks* when a' was done ! 
Air.— Logan IValer. 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide. 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne^' hae o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy fiow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes. 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 

Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flower* : 

Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye. 

And evening's tears are tears of joy ; 

My soul, delighiles?, a' surveys. 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil. 
Or wi' his sojig her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings iiere, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer. 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 

O wae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make monie a fond heart moum, 
Sae may it on your heads return! 



330 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry *. 
But soon may peace bring happy days. 
And Willie hame t© Logan braes ! 

BY ALLAN STREAM, &c. 

f this son^ Burns says, • I think it not in my worst style.' It ha* 
nolhin? in common with the Allan Water of Ramsay, in the 'leu 
Table Alisceilaiiy, vol. 1. p. 86, but the title. 

Tune..— Allan Water, 

Bv Allan stream I chanced to rove, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;y 
The winds were whispering thro' the grove. 

The yellow corn was waving ready ; 
I listen'd to a lover's sang. 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie; 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang — 

' O, dearly do 1 love thee, Annie!' 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She sinking, said, ' I 'm thine for ever!' 
While monie a kiss, the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' spring 's the primrose brae, 

The simmer joys the floo-ks to follow ; 
How cheerly thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom s. treasure 1 

y A mountain -.vest of Strathallan, 3003 feet hi§;h. 



SONGS AND BALLA.DS. 331 



SHE 'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

The fickleness of a lady of the name of Stewart occasioned this 
rigorous and emphatic son^. The four concluding lines are 
quoted and highly praised in the Edinburgh Review for Januarv, 
1809. 

She 's fair and fause* that causes my smart, 

I Jo'ed her meikle and lang ;'' 
»She 's broken her vow, she 's broken my heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof^ came in with roiUh o' gear,^ 
And I hae tint my dearest dear ; 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie^ 'tis though fickle she prove, 

A woman has 't by kind : 
O woman lovely, woman fair ! 
An angel form 's faun*^ to thy share, 
'Twad been owre meikle to gien thee mair, 

I mean an angel mind. 

SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. 

'She says she lo'es me best of a', is one of the pleasantest table 
songs I have seen, and henceforth shall be mine when the song 
h going round.' — Thomson to Bums. 

Tane.—Onagh's Water-fall. 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets. 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe; 
What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow! 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face. 

When first her bonnie face I saw, 

a False. b Much and long. e Blockhead, 

d Plenty of wealth. e Wonder. /" Fallen. 



332 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And ay my Chi oris' dearest charm. 
She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion. 

Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld ?>'ature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair ; 
Her's are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign lav/ ; 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es m.e best of a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes her sang . 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love, 

And say thou lo'er, me be^t of a' 1 

LAMENT OF A MOTHER FOR THE DKATIl 

OF HER SON. 

Burns in this sons: personifies Mrs. For^isson of Craig-darroch, 
wlio lost lier son, a promising yoiitli of I'iiclUceii years of age. 
He composed it one morning, on liorscb i<k, iifier three o'clock, 
as he jogg;ed on in tl;e dark, from Nitlisdale to Elliesland. 

Tune. — Finlayslon House, ' 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 
And pierced my darling's heart ; 

And with him all the joys are fled 
Life can to me impart. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 388 

By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

la dust dishonour'd laid ; 
So fell the pride of all my hopes. 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So 1, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I 've fear'd thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond I bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love at rest ! 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

Fo«f an old and beautiful version of the ' Lass of Inverness,' see 
' Harp of Caledonia,' vol. iii. p. 171. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries — ' Alas 1* 

And ay the saut tear blin's her ee : 
* Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear. 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

' Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see ; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

'Jliat ever blest a woman's ee. 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrons: to thine or thee.' 



934 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE RAVING WINDS. 

These verses -.rere composed for Isabella RI'Leod o Raia, &■ 
expressive of her feeliii'^s on tlie death of lier suffir, arid the 
stifl more melancholv death of her sister's husband, the Earl 
»»f Loudon, who shot himself in consequence of some mortifica 
tions he sulTered, owing to the deranged state of las finances. 
Tune.— M'GrJ£-or of Revo's Lament. 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray 'd deploring : — 
• Farewell, hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow. 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow. 
O'er the past too fondly v/andering, 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes. 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing, 
O how gladly I 'd resign thee, 
And to dark oblivion join thee !' 

THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 

'The Youn? Highland Rover,' is Prince Charles Stuart. Burnt 
was always a Jacobite, but more so after his lour to the High 
lands, when this song w;is composed. 

Tune. — Morag. 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes. 

The snavvs the mountains cover ; 
Like winter on me seizes. 

Since my young Highland Rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden : 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle -Gordon ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 335 

The trees now naked groaning, _ 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,* 

The birdies dowie^ moaning, 
Shall a' be blythely singing. 
And every flower be springing. 

Sae I '11 rejoice the lee-lang"" day, 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth 's return'd to fair Strathspey 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 

STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 

^irathillan.it is preeumed, was one of tlie followers of the yonn? 
O^eS. aid'is^upposed, in the following verses, to be Jyn.j 
coifcealed' fn some cSve of the Highlands, after the battle <J 
CuUoden. 

Thickest night o'eihang my dwelling ! 

Howling tempests o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wint'ry swelling. 
Still surround my lonely cave ! 
Crystal streamlets gently flowing. 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 
Western breezes softly blo\ying, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 
In the cause of right engaged. 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 
Honour's war we strongly waged. 

But the Heavens deny'd success. 
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us. 
Not a hope that dare attend ; 
The wild world is all before us — 
But a world without a friend ! 

THE BANKS OF NITH. 

A Fragiuent. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,^ 
Where late wi' careless thought 1 rang'd, 

k Han^nff. I Worn with grief. m Live-long, 



56 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe. 
To thee 1 bring a heart unchang'd. 

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and biaes. 
Though mem'ry there my bosom tear ; 

For there he rov'd that brak my heart — 
Yet to that heart, ah ! still how dear ' 



FAREWELL TO NANCY. 

Tlie last four lines of tlie second verse of this song has furnished 
Byron with a motto, and Scott has baid that tliat motto is worth 
a miousand romances : 

' Had wc never lov'd sae kindly,' &c. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears 1 '11 pledge thee. 
Warring sighs and groans 1 '11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him. 
While the star of hope she leaves him 1 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; * 

Dark despair around benights me. 

I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fon.tl kiss, and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee. 
Warring sighs and groans 1 '11 wage I'nee. 



SONGS AND lULLADS. 33? 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA. 

W'ritten for Johnson's Museum. Tliis song: has latterly bi3en ren 
dered popular by the musical taienU of Miss Stephens, 

Tune. — Gilderoy. 

From thee, Eliza, I must go. 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans roaring wide 

Between my love and me. 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in my ear. 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

Wliile Death stands victor by. 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 

And thine that latest sigh. 

FAIR ELIZA. 

'The bonnie bracket lassie,' to the music of which this su- 
perior song is coniposRd, was written by an eccentric character, 
who was well known in Edinbur<,'h about forty years ago by 
the name of ' Balloon Tytler.' He also wrote the popular 
song, of ' Loch Erroch Side.' 

Tune — The bonnie brucket lassie. 

TunN again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part. 
Rue on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu* heart ? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ! 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 
Q 



338 SONGS AND IJALLADS. 

Thee, dear maid, liae 1 offended 1 

The offence is loving thee : 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever 

Wha for thine wad gladly die] 
While the life beats in my bosom. 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow ! 

Not the bee upon the blossom. 

In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy. 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his ee. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture. 

That thy presence gies to me. 

THOUGH CRUEL FATE, &cv^, 

This beautiful Fragnieiyt is an early coinpositioDa 

Though cruel Fate should bid us part. 

As far 's the Pole and Line, 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 

Though mountains frown and deserts howl. 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

1 still would love my Jean. 

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Furns composed these verses in early life, before he was at ail 
known in the world. The object of his affection was Mary 
Cajuubell, a native of the Highlands. The deep impression 
which she made on his mind can hardly be inferred from thi« 
song. From those which follow,, however, we can more readily 

■ imagine the intense interest which she excited in his bosoni. 

Tune. — The cleiik's dang owre my daddy, 

Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair. 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 839 

Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 

CHORUS. 

Within the glen sae bmhi^, 0, 
Aboon the ■plain sae rushy, 0, 
I set me down wi' right good ivill. 
To sing my Highland lassie, 0. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine, 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &cc. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
And 1 maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I '11 love my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
1 know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

For her I '11 dare the billow's roar, 
For her 1 'il dare the distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
W^ithin the glen, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band I 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I 'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. 

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O, 
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O, 
To other lands I now must go 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 



340 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

TO MARY. 
Another of the Poet's many sonj^s in praise of ' Highland Matj.* 

Could aught of song declare my pains, 
Could artful numbers move thee, 

The Muse should tell in labour'd strains, 
O Mary, how I love thee! 

They who but feign a wounded heart, 

May teach the lyre to languish ; 
But what avails the pride of art, 

When wastes the soul with anguish 1 
Then let the sudden bursting sigh 

The heart-felt pang discovei*; 
And in the keen, yet tender eye, 

O read th' imploring lover. 

For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising ; 
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd, 

The voice of nature prizing. 

PRAYER FOR MARY. 

Supposed to be written on the eve of the Poet's intended depar 
ture for the West Indies. First published in the Hcliiiiies, from 
a copy supplied by the Kev. James Gray, of Dumfries, tht 
kind friend ot tiie widow and family of the Poet. 

Powers celestial, whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair. 
While in distant climes I wander. 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form, sae fair and faultless. 

Fair and faultless as your own ; 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit. 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her. 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her. 

Soothe her bosom into rest: 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 341 

Guardian angels, O protect her. 

When in distant lands I roam ! 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 

Make her bosom still my home. 

HIGHLAND MARY. 

A this song', so exquisitely mournful, we «eeall the anticipations, 
All the hopes, of Burns' laid low. His Prayer was not heard. 
His Mary was, as it were, struck dead at his feet. She met 
lilra, by appointment, iu a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, 
where she spent the day with him in takings a farewell, before 
uhe should embark for the West-Highlands, to arrange matters 
among: her friends for her projected cl.ange in life. Shortly 
after she crossed the sea to meet him at Greenock, where she 
had scarcely landed when she was seized with a nialiarnant fever, 
which liurried her to the grave in a few days, before he could 
even hear of her illness. 

Tune.—Kat/tarine Ogie. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' JMontgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie! 
There simmer first unfald" her robes. 

And there the langest tarry ! 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O* my sweet Highland JMary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk ! 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace. 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder : 

N Unfolds. 



342 SONGS AND BALLAIJS. 

But, oh ! fell death s untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and caukl's tiie clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

1 aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust, 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core, 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

*'e have seen Burns celebrate (he youth and beamy of liis Mary. 
We have seen him bewail her death in the most pathrtic and 
agonizing strains. In this sublime and tender ele;ry, wl ich he 
composed on the anniversary of her decease, his whole soul 
seems overwhelmed with sadness. Ag-itated by the tumult of Ins 
feeling-s, he retired from his family, then residin.? on the farm 
of Ellisland, and wandered on the banks of the Nith and about 
the farm- yard nearly the whole of the night. At lin<rth he 
threw himself on the side of a corn-stack, and frave utterance 
to his grief in this divine strain of sensibility— this heart-rending 
address ' To Mary in Heaven.' 

Tane.— Miss Forbes^s Faretoell to Banff. 
Tiiou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest 1 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ] 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ! 
That sacred hour can I forget. 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface. 

Those records dear of transports past— 
Thy image at our last embrace ! 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 



1 




i 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 343 




Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 




O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green 


A 


The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 


1 


Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene. 


\ 


The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 


\ 


The birds sang love on every spray. 


• 


Till too, too soon, the glowing west 


•i 


Proclaim 'd the speed of winged day. 


Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 


• 


• And fondly broods with miser care ; 




Time but the impression deeper makes, 




'As streams their channels deeper wear 




My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 




• Where is thy place of blissful restl 


#» 


l^eest thou thy lover lowly laid \ 




Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 


} 


THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL 1 


t 

1 


To his Native Co^ry. 
Bunts intended tliis son? as a farewell dirge to his native land. 


from which he was lo embark in a few days for Jamaica. • I 




liad taken,' says he, ' the last farewell of my friends : my chesi 




was on the roaJ to Greenock : I composed the last gong^ 1 
should ever nigSsure in Caledonia—" Tlie gloomy night" i« 






gatherin- fast." » 




Tane.—Rostin Castle. 




'Vuk gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 




LlJud roars the wild inconstant blast. 




Yon murky cloud is foul with rain. 


■ 


I see it driving o'er the plain ; 


V 


The hunter now has left the moor. 




The scatter'd coveys meet secure. 




While here I wander, prest wi' care. 


^'-^'' 


Along the bonnie banks of Ayr. 




The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 




By early Winter's ravage torn ; 




Across her placid azure sky, 


9 


She sees the scowling tempest fly ; 



a41 SONGS AND BALLADS. 


1 

i 


Chill runs my blood to hear it rave. 




I think upon the stormy wave. 




Where many a danger I must dare. 




Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 


f 

1 


'Tis not the surging billow's roar. 


'Tis not that fatal deadly shore : 




Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 


f 


The wretched have no more to fear : 


;# 


But round my heart the ties are bound. 


i 


That heart transpierced with many a wound . 




These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 


• 


To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 




Farewell old Coila's hills and dales. 




Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 




The scenes where wretched fancy roves, ^ 


."# 


Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 


J 


Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 




My peace with these, my love with those — 


: 


The bursting tears my heart declare. 


i 


Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 


\ 


THE FAREWELL 




To the Bretliren of St. James's Lodje, *arbolton. 




Tune.— Gude nig/il and joy be loj' you a'. 




Adieu ! a heart-warm fond adieu. 




Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 




Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few. 




Companions of my social joy ! 




The' I to foreign lands must hie. 




Pursuing fortune's slipp'ry ba','* 




With melting heart and brimful eye. 




I'll mind you still, tho' far awa. 




Oft have I met your social band, 




And spent the cheerful, festive night; 




Oft, honour'd with supreme command 




Presided o'er the sons of light ; 




w Ball. 


! 
1 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 345 

And by that hieroglyphic bright. 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 

Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes when far awa. 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' omniscient Eye above. 

The glorious Architect divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line. 

Still rising by the plummet's law. 
Till order bright completely shine. 

Shall be my prayer, when far awa. 

And you, farewell ! whose merits claim. 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name» 

To Masonry and Scotia dear I 
A last request, permit me here, — 

When yearly ye assemble a'. 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 

To him — The Bard that's far awa ! 



THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 

O MEiELE do I rue, fause love. 

Oh sairly do I rue. 
That e'er I heard your flattering tongue, 

That e'er your face I knew. 

Oh I hae tint my rosy cheeks. 
Likewise my waist sae sma' ; 

And I hae lost my lightsome heart 
That little wist a fa'. 

Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer 

O' mony a saucy quean ; 
When, gin the truth were a' but kent, 

Her life's been waur than mine. 
Q2 



846 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Whene'er my father thinks on me. 

He stares into the wa': 
My mither, she has taen the bed 

Wi' thinking on my fa'. 

Whene'er I hear my father's foot, 
My heart wad burst wi' pain ; 

Whene'er I meet my mither's ee. 
My tears rin down like rain. 

Alas ! sae sweet a tree as love 
Sic bitter fruit should bear! 

Alas ! that e'er a bonnie face 
Should draw a sauty tear ! 



AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT. 

U was the opinion of Dr. Ciirrip, that the cliorus originally at- 
tached to the following' beautiful stanzas, both interrupteif tlie 
narrative, and marred the sentiment of each \erse. We have 
therefore omitted it. 

Tune. — Johitny^s grft/ Ireeks. 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues 

Her leafy locks wave in their breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

In vain to me these cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me these vi'Iets spring : 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw. 
The mavis" and the lintwhitey sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie^ seedsman stalks. 

But life 's to me a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
X The thrusn y lite linnet. x CtteAil. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 347 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And every thing is blest but I. 

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,* 
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
BIythe waukens by the daisie's side, 

And mounts and sings on flutt'ring wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist 1 hameward glide. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
When nature all is sad like me I 

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.— A NEW BALLAD. 

A fragfment, first published in the * Reliques.' 
Tune.— rAe Dragon of Wanlley. 

Dire was the hate at old Harlav/, 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw, 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot. 

Or were more in fury seen. Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job— 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. 

This Hal, for genius, wit, and lore. 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store. 

Commandment tenth remember'd. 
Yet simple Bob the victory got. 

And wan his heart's desire ; 
Which shews that Heaven can boil the pot 

Though the Devil p-ss in the fire. 

a Shuts the gate of his fold. 



M8 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Squire Hal besides had, in this case 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy , 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Eob's purblind, mental vision : 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet. 

Till for eloquence jou hail him. 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam. 

JOHN BARLEYCORN.— A BALLAD 

Ihis is partly composed on the plan of au old song known l>y the 
same name. 

There were three kings into the east, 
Three kings both great and high. 

An' 'they hae sworn a solemn oatli 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him fi-swn, 

Put clods upon his head. 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again. 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came. 
And he grew thick and strong. 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
That no one should him wrong. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 346 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Shew'd he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To shew their deadly rage. 

They 've taen a weapon long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgell'd him full sore : 
They hung him up before the storm, 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit, 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John JBarleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 

To work him farther woe. 
And still as signs of life appear'd. 

They toss'd him to and iro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all. 

For he crush'd him between two stones. 

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 
Of noble enterprise. 



350 SOJ^GS AND BALLADS. 

For if you do but taste his blood, 
'Twill make your courage rise. 

'Twill make a man foroet his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy ; 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland. 

A BOTTLE AND A FRIEND. 

First published in the Reliques. 

Here 's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
VVha kens, before his life may end, 

What liis share may be of care, man? 

Then catch the moments as they fly, 
And use them as ye ought, man: 

Believe me, happiness is shy, 

And comes not ay when sought, man. 

WILLIE BREWED A PECK O' MAUT. 

These verses were composed to celebrate a visit whicii the Poet 
and Allan Mastertou ir.ade to William Nichol, of the Hi^h- 
school, Edinbiirijii, who happened to be at Mofl'at during the 
autumn vacation. — The air is by Masterton. 

O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,"* 
And Rob and Allan cam to see ; 

Three blyther hearts that lee-lang*^ night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie.** 

CHORUS. 

We are nafou,^ we 're nae thatfou. 

But just a drappie in our ee ; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw,^ 

But ay we 'LI taste the barley-bree.S 

b Malt. e Live-longf, d Cliristendom 

* Drunk. / Dawn. g Juice. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. aSl 

Here are we met, three merry boys. 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 
And monie a night we 've merry been, 
And monie mae we hope to be! 
We are na fou, &c. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn. 

That *s blinkin' in the lift"^ sae hie; 

She shines sae bright to vvyle' us hame; 
But by my sooth she 'U wait a wee ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 

He is the king amang us three ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

GUDEWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN. 

The following is one of the verses of the old Bacchanalian ditty 

which sug:fi^ested tliis song to Burns :— 
O, ilka day my wife tells me, that yill and brandie will ruin me, 
Buttho' gude drink should be my dead, I 'se hae tiiis written on 

my head : 
* O gudewife, count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin, 
O, gudewife, count the lawin, an' bring a coggie niair.' 

Gane is the day, and mirk 's^ the night. 
But we '11 ne'er stray for faut o' light. 
For ale and brandy 's stars and moon. 
And blue-red wine 's the rising sun. 

CHORUS. 

Then gudeujife^ count the lawin, ^ 

The lawin, the lawin. 
Then gudewife count the lawiTi, 

And bring a coggie^ mair. 

There *s wealth and ease for gentlemen. 
And semple folk maun fecht<> and fen' ; 

h The sky. t Beguile. h Dark. 

1 The Landlady, or mistress of the house. 

m The bill, or reckoning. n A cup. o Figlit and strugfick 



352 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But here we 're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka<i man that 's drunk 's a lord. 

Then gudewife, &c. 
My coggie is a haly*" pool, 
That heals the wounds of care and dool* j 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it a' ye '11 find him out. 
Then gudewife, &c. 

I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 

Of this song the chorus and second stanza arc old. 

T AM my mammie's ae bairn,' 

Wi' unco folk I weary. Sir ; 
And lying in a man's bed, 

I 'm fley'd" wad mak me eerie, Sir. 

CBORUS. 

I 'm owre young, I 'm ov^re youngs 

I 'm owre yoimg to marvij yft ; 

I 'in owre young, 'iwad he a sin 

To tak me Jrae my mammie yet. 

My mammie coft^ me a new gown. 

The kirk maun hae the gracing o't ; 
Were I to lie wi' you, kuid Sir, 

I 'm fear'd ye 'd spoil the lacing o't. 
1 'm owre young, &:c. 
Hallowmas is come and gane, 

The nights are lang in winter, Sir ; 
And you an' I in ae bed, 

In troth I dare na venture. Sir. 
1 'm owre young, &c. 
Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 

Blaws thro' the leafless timmer," Sir; 
But if ye come this gateV again, 
I 'U aulder be gin simmer,^ Sir. 
1 'm owre young, &c. 

q Every. r Holy. * Sorrow. ( Only child. 

« Affftid M' Itotiifht. .r Timber, trees. y Way 
t 1 '11 he older airain^t sumnier. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 353 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

The scenery of this son? was taken from real life, ^urns had 
roved out as chance directed, in the favourite haunts of his 
Muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gai«^ty 
of the vernal year. In a corner of his prospect he spied one ot 
the loveliest creatures that ever crowneil a poetical landscape, 
or met a poet's eve. On liis return home he composed the fol- 
lowing verses in honour of her charms. 

Tune.— Miss Foi-bes^s Farewell to Banff, 

'TwAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while. 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Axnang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Witli careless step I onward stray'd. 

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like nature's vernal smile ; 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by. 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery INIay, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild. 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile; 
Ev'n there her other woiks are foil'd 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Oh, had she been a country maid, 
And I the happy country swain, 

Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 
That ever rose in Scotland's plain ! 



854 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 
With joy, with rapture, I would toil j 

And nightly to my bosom strain 
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine : 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine, 

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

Th!« son^ was written on the occasion of Sir John Whitefoord 
leaving Ballochmyle. The Maria mentioned in the first stanza 
was the eldest daughter of that u:entlenian. 

Tnne.— Miss Forbes^s Farewell to Banff. 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green. 

But nature sicken'd on the ee. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle ! 

Low in your wintrj' beds, ye flowers. 

Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair . 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers. 

Again ye '11 charm the vocal air : 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS 355 

BONNIE LESLIE. 

This iong was composed on a cliarrainj Ayrshire g^irl, as the 
passed through Dumfries to England. 
Tune. — The coUierU bonnie dochttr. 

O SAW ye bonnie Leslie 

As she gaed o'er the border 1 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made her what she i3, 

And ne'er made sic anither. 

Thou art a queen, fair Leslie, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine, fair Leslie, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith* thee. 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He 'd look, into thy bonnie face. 
And say, ' I canna wrang thee.* 

The Powers aboon'' will tenl^ thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer*^ thee ; 
Thou 'rt like themselves sac lovely. 

That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Leslie ! 

Return to Caledonia ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 

ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, &c 

Written for the ' Museum' to the beautiful old melody 'The larly 
of the flowery field,' included in Ritson's ' Desiderata in Scottisa 
Song,' since published In the Scots Magazine for Jan. 1802. 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 
For summer lightly drest, 

a Ii\jurc. 6 Above, c Tend, guard. d Molest 



356 SONUS AND BALLADS. 

The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, 
With love and sleep opprest : 

When Willie, wand'ring through the wood 
Who for her favour oft had sued ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd. 
And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath 'd, 

They richer dy'd the rose. 

The springing lilies sweetly prest, 
Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs eml)race ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace ! 

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
And sigh'd his very soul ! 

As flies the partridge from the brake. 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, starting, half awake, 

Away affrighted springs : 

But Willie foUow'd — as he should, 
He overtook her in the wood : 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 
forgiving all and good. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 357 

THE BANKS OF CREE. 

The air of this sonj was composed by Lndy Elizabeth Heron, o* 
Heron. The Cree is a beautiful romantic stream in Galloway, 

Hkre is the glen, and here the bower, 

All underneath the birchin shade ; 
The village-bell has told the hour — 

O what can stay my lovely maid ? 
*Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 
It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the wood- lark in the grove. 
His little faithful mate to cheer. 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love ! 
And art thou come 2 and art thou true ] 

O welcome, dear, to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew. 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 

YOUNG PEGGY. 

This is one of the Poet's earliest compositions. It is copied from 
a MS. book which he liad before his (irst publication.— Cro/neA. 

Tune.— The last time I came oivre the moor. 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass. 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass. 

With pearly gems adorning. 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower. 
And glitter o'er tlie crystal streams. 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 
Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has g-raced them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them. 



S58 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Her smiles are like the evening mild. 
When feather'd pairs are courting, 

And little lambkins wanton wild, 
In playful bands disporting. 

Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe. 

Such sweetness would relent her ; 
As blooming spring unbends the brow 

Of savage, surly winter. 
Detraction's eye no harm can join 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And spiteful envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye powers of honour, love, and truth. 

From every ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her : 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame. 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 

THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE MARY. 

This son^ was communicated by Burns to the MuBical Museum, 
with a mark, denoting it to be an old song with alterations or 
additions. As he published ' Auld Lang Synt-,' and several of 
his songs, in a similar way, and as the veto of ' Uonnie Mary' 
cannot be l^nown from the old, there is reason to believe it 
one of his own songc. 

In coming by the brig of Dye,® 

At Dartlet we a blink did tarry, 
As day was dying in the sky 

We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
Theniel IMenzie's bonnie Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie. 
In wooing 1 heniel's bonnie Mary. 

t A small river In Kincerdineshire, near the birth-place of the 
Poet'e father. 



SONGS ANU BALLADS. 359 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white. 
Her haffet locks as brown 's a berry, 
An' ay they dimpled wi' a smile 
The rosie cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
Theniel INIenzie's bonnie IVIary ; 
She charm 'd my heart an' my tvva een, 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. 

We lap an' danced the lee-lang night, 
Till piper lads were wan an' weary. 
Yet rosie as the rising sun 

Was Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
O, sweet as light, and kind as night. 
Was Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. 

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. 

'This song,' says Burns, ' has at least the merit of being a regu- 
lar pastoral. The vernal morn, the summer noon, the autum- 
Dal evening, and the winter night, are all regularly rounded.' 

Tunc. — Rothiemurchvii^ Rant, 

CHORUS. 

Lassie wi* the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks f 

Wilt thou he my dearie ? 

Now nature cleeds^ the flowery lea. 
And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me. 
And say thou 'It be my dearie O ? 
Lassie, &c. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilks drooping little flower, 

/Clothes. g- Every. 



300 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

We '11 to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie, &c. 
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way, 
Thro' yellow waving fields we '11 stray. 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
Lassie, &c. 

And when the howling wint'ry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I '11 comfort thee, my dearie O. 
Lassie, <S:c. 

O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. 

Phe subject of this son? was a Imly, who afterward died at 
Lisbon, Burns writes in the rhanicter of her husband. She 
was an accomplished and lovely woman, and worthy of tliit 
beautiful strain of sensibility. 

Tune. — ni gang nnc mair to yon town, 

O wiw'» ye wha 's in yon town. 

Ye see the e'enin' sun upon 1 
The fairest dame 's in yon town. 

That e'enin' sun is shining on. 
Now haply down yon gay green shaw. 

She wanders by yon spreading tree ; 
How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw. 

Ye catch the glances o' her ee ! 
How blest ye birds that round her sing, 

And welcome in the blooming year } 
And doubly welcome be the spring. 

The season to my Lucy dear. 
The sun blinks blythe on yon town. 

And on yon bonnie braes ot Ayr ; 
But my delight in yon town, 

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

h To wot. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 361 

Without my love not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave v/ad be a lover's bower, 

Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 
And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinking sun 's gaun down upon j 
A fairer than 's in yon town. 

His setting beams ne'er shone upon. 

If angry Fate is sworn my foe. 

And sutF'ring I am doom'd to bear; 

1 careless quit aught else below. 

But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart ; 

And she — as fairest is her foim, 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

This Is written in the measure of an old Scottish som^ of the 
same name, from which Burns has borrowed uotliin;^ but the 
chorus. He composed it while standing: under the Falls ol 
Aberfeldy, near Moness. 

CHORUS. 
Bonnie lassie, toill ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go — • 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go. 
To the hirks^ of Aberfeldy / 
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes. 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays. 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, &c. 
i Birch trefs. 
11 



362 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,*' 
The little birdies blythely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing, 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, &c. 

The braes' ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws. 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie lassie, &c. 
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers. 
White o'er the linns'" the burnie pours, 
And, rising, weets" wi' misty showers. 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie lassie, &c. 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae m 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
In the birks.of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, &c. 

O LET ME IN THIS AE^ NIGHT. 

«You have displayed ^reat address in your sonsr, "Let m» in 

this ae ni.!,'ht." Her answer is excellent, and at the same ti:iir 

takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached 

to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much.' 

Thomson to Utirns. 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet? 

Or art thou waukin*, I wo\ild wit? 

For love has bound me hand and fit,P 

For I would fain be in, jo.i 

cnonus, 

let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 

For pity's sake, tJiis ae night, 

O rise and let me in, jo, 

h Hang. I Slope of a Idll. m A p-.-ecipice. n Wett, 
o One. V Foct. S'»at;theart. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 363 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,*" 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ) 
Tak pity on my weary feet. 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's; 
The cauldness o' thy heart 's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 



HER ANSWER. 

O TELL na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain! 
Gae back the gate* ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 



I tell you now this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
And, ancefor a', this ae night 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest' blast at mirkest" hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours. 
Is nocht* to what poor she endures. 
That 's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead. 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird" may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day. 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey : 

r Rain. « Way. ( Bitterest. « DarketU 

V) Nought. X Fate. 



364 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 

Written for Thomson's Collection in May 1793. 'Caledonia,* 
*0 whistle an' I'll come to yoii, iny lad,' 'lliis is no my aio 
house,* &c. were also productions ol this period. 

Tune. — Wherein bcnuiie Annie lie, or Loch-Erroch I'ld* 

O STAY, sv/eet warbling wood-lark, stay. 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay. 

Thy soothing fond complaining. 
Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad toucii her heart, 

Wha kills me \vi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard thee as the carek.ss wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrov/ join'd, 

Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 
Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 

Or my poor heart is broken ! 

THE ROSE-BUD. 

Tlila ton^ was written on Miss Jennv Cniickshaiiks, onI> child. 
■William Criuckshanks, of the High-School, Edinburgh. 

Tune.— r/ie Shepherd's Wife. 

A KosE-BUD by my early walk, 
A-down a corn-inclosed bawk.y 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
la a' its crimson glory spread, 

y A narrow footpath across a field. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 365 

And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest, 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 

Awake the early morning. 
So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair. 
On trembling string or vocal air. 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tents thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay. 
Shall beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch'd thy early morning. 

O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 

Burns wrote this song wliun he was about seventeen years o' zgc 
Tune. — Invcrcauld's Reel, 
CHORUS. 
Tibbie, 1 hae seen the day 
Ye wod na been sae shy ; 
For laik*' 6' gear ye lightly me. 
But, troth, I care 7ia by. 
Yestheen I met you on the moor. 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure j» 
Ye geek** at me because I'm poor, 
But fienl*^ a hair care I. 
O Tibbie, &c. 
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink,* 

t Lack. a Dust in motion. b Toss the head In sconi, 

c A petty oath of negation. d Cosh. 



306 SONGS AND EALLADS. 

That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch* o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows onie saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

Altho' a lad were e'er so smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
. Ye '11 cast your head anither airt,' 
And answer him fu' dry. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye '11 fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear.K 
Be better than the kye.*» 
O Tibbie, &c. 

But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice : 
The deil a ane wad spier' your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I wad na gifi her in her sark. 
For thee wi* a' thy thousand mark — 
Ye need na look sae high. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

CASTLE GORDON. 

TtiU son? was wriUL-ii by Burns wtien on his tour to the High- 
lands, and transmitted to Gordon Castle as an acknowledgment 
of the hospitalicy he had received from Uie noble family. 
Tune.— Mora^. 

Stueams that glide in orient plains. 
Never bound by winter's chains ; 

c Pocket. /Quarter. g Learnintf. h Cow.'. » Inquire. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 367 

Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands : 
These, their richly-gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle-Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay. 
Shading from the burning ray 
Helpless wretches sold to toil. 
Or the ruthless native's way. 
Bent on slaughter, blood and spoil : 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave : 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms, by Castle-Gordon. 

Wildly here, without control. 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
In that sober pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul. 
She plants the forest, pours the flood 
Life's poor day I '11 musing rave, 
And find at night a shelt'ring cave. 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
By bonnie Castle-Gordon. 

O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. 

This excellent lyric was written for the Museum. The air Is froic 
an old and very indelicate son^', wliich is now justly forgotten. 

Tune.— r/je Moudiewort. 
CHORUS. 

An' 0,for ane-and-twenty , Tain! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenly , Tarn! 
I'll learn my k'ln^ a ratlin' sang, 

Gin I iaw ane-aiid-twenty, Tarn! 

k Kindred, relatione. 



G8 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

They snool' me ar and baud me down, 
An' gar me look iike b] untie,™ Tam ! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun*, 
An' then comes ane-and-twenty. Tan. ! 
An' O, &c. 

A gleib o' land, a claut" o' gear. 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 

At kith" or kin I need na spier.P 
Gin I were ane-and-twenty, Tam • 
An' O, &c. 

They '11 hae me wed a wealthy coof,'> 
Though I mysel hae plenty, Tam ; 

But, hear'st thou, laddie — there 's my loof,"" 
I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
An' O, &c. 



THE VISION. 

This fragment is founded on a poem, bearing tiie same title, 
written by Allan Ramsay. The scenery, however, is taken from 
nature. The poet is supposed to be niusins: on the banl^s of 
the river Cliiden, by the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, founded in 
the twelfth century, in tlie reign of Malcolm IV. 

Tune. — Cumnock psalms. 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa'-tiower scents the dewy air, 

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bovver. 
And tells the midnight moon her care : 

The winds were laid, the air was still. 
The stars they shot alang the sky ; 

The fox was howling on the hill. 

And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 

Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's. 
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 

Whase distant roaring fewells and fa's. 

I Oppress. m A sniveller, a stupid person. n Oood portion. 
o Kindred. p Ask. q Blockhead. r Pulm of the haiMU 



■ >ONGS AND BALLADS. 369 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ;* 

Athort' the lift" they start and shift, 
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.'* 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
And by the moon-beam shook to see 

A stern and stalwart* ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His daurin'y look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain. 
The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae^ his harp sic* strains did flow, 
Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear ; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day. 

He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play, 
1 winna venture 't in my rhymes. 

O BONNIE WAS YON KOSY BRIER. 

The fine old air to which this song- is written, has also been sap- 
plied with words by Mr. Jamison, the editor ot 'Old Scottish 
UallaJsand Songs,' in 2 vol. 6vo.— Edin. 1805. 

Tune. — / tvish my love was in a mire. 

O BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man , 

And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. 

Yon rose-buds in the morning dew 
How pure amang the leaves sae green \ 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

k Frightful noise. / AthwnrL « Sky. w Lost as soon as won. 
X Strong-. y Danna". ^ From, a Such. 

R2 



37D SONGS AND BALLADS. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn. 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 

CAN 1 CEASE TO CARE? 

In the tollowing^ song there is much of the manner and feeling ol 
t).e old verses,— 

' Ay waukin' O, waukin' ay an' wearie, 
Sleep 1 canna ^et, for thiuking on my dearie.' 
Tune. — At/ wauki7i' O. 

CHORUS. 

Longy long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow. 
While my soul^s delight 

Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care, 

Can I cease to languish. 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish 1 
Long, &c. 

Every hope is fled. 

Every fear is terror ; 
Slumber even I dread. 

Every dream is horror 
Long, &c. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine. 

But my Chloris spare me I 
Long, &c. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 371 

CLARINDA. 

Fhe »abject of tliis sonar ^^'as a young widow who encoarafred 
a friendly correspondence with Burns. 

Claiunda, mistress of my soul, 

The measur'd time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pole, 

So marks his latest sun. 

^o what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy ? 

We part — but by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No otlier light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex. 

Has blest my glorious day : 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray "> 

JOCKEY'S TAEN THE PARTING KISS. 

Written to the tune and in the manner of the old son?, beginning— 
' Come kiss wi' me, come clap wi' me, 
An' suit nae mair tlie saut,* saut sea.' 

Jockey 's taen the parting kiss, 
Owre the mountains he is gane. 

And with him is a' my bliss. 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my love, ye winds that blaw. 
Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my love, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting owre tlie frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep, 
Owre the day's fair, gladsome ee, 



372 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blythe his waukening be ! 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he '11 repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 

THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AW A. 

The original song-, to the tune of which the following is written, 
will be found in a volume of songi printed at Edinburgh, about 
1670, black letter, beginning— 

' The Elphin Knight sits on yon hill, 

Ba, b;i, ba, lilli ba, 
He blew his horn baith loiul an', shrill. 
The wind has blawn ray jrtaid awa.' 
Tune. — Orore the hills and far awa, 

O HOW can I be blythe and glad, 
Or how can 1 gang brisk and braw,** 

When the bonnie lad that 1 lo'e best 
Is owre the hills and far awa ] 

It 's no tlie frosty winter wind. 

It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; 

But ay the tear comes in my ee. 
To think o' him that 's far awa. 

My father pat*= me frae*' his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a* ; 

But i hae ane will tak my part, 
The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gave to me. 

And silken snoods^ ne gave me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake. 
The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will cleed^ the birken shaw ;» 

And my sweet babie will be born. 
And he '11 come hame that 's far awa. 

Fine. c Put. d From. 

e Ribands for binding the hair. / Clothe. g Small woo* 



SONGS AND BALLA.DS. 373 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

rhis is the first son j that Burns contributed to Johnson's Museum 
of ScotUsh Songs, a work of great merit, extending to hve 8yo. 
volumes, commenced in 1787, and concluded in 1794. Uesides 
many original contributions to that wori^, upwards o one hun- 
dred and fifty of the old songs and ballads inserted in il bear 
traces of his hand. 

ciionus. 
Green grow the rashes, '. 

Green grow the rashes, ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 
Are spent amang the Lasses, ! 
There 's nought but care on ev'ry han', 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O ! 
Green grow, &c. 
The warly** race may riches chase, 

And riches still will fly them, O ; 
And tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O ! 
Green grow, &c. 
But gie* me a cannie'' hour at e'en. 

My arms about my dearie, O ; 
An' warly cares, an' warly men. 
May a' gae tapsalteerie,' O ! 
Green grow, 6cc. 
For you sae douce,™ ye sneer at this. 

Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O ; 
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw. 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O I 
Green grow, &c. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears. 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

« Worldly. t Give. „ Jt Convenlenl. 

I Topsy-turvy. m Sober, prudent. 



374 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
And then she made the lasses, O I 
Green grow, &c. 

BONNIE ANN. 

Burns composed this song out of compliment to Miss Ann Mas- 
terton. daiis^liter ol liis friend Allan !\lasterton, author of t)ie 
air or ' Strathallau's Lament,' ' Willie brewed a peck o' 
maut,' &c. 

Ye gallants bright I red" you right, 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace. 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night. 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae gimply laced her genty"* waist. 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van : 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands. 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, I red you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

The chorus of this son^ is old. 
CHORUS. 

Up in the morning 's no for me, 

Up in the morning earlif ; 
When a the hills are covered tvV snaw 

I'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 
The driftP is driving sairly ; 

n Counsel. v Elegantly formed. p DrifteU snow. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 375 

Sae loud and shill 'si I hear the blast 
I *m sure it 's winter fairly. 

Up in the morning, &c. 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 

A' day they fare but sparely ; 
And lang 's the night frae e'en to morn, 

I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

Up in the morning, &c. 



MY NANNIE, O. 

In the earlii i editions of tliis son^ the Stinchar was said to b« 
Nannie's native stream ; but af'terwards the Poet replaced It 
witli Lugar, for wliat reason he has not told us. Perhaps he 
hart a similar one for chanj^ing his own name from Burncs* to 
Burns. 

Bkhind yon hills where Lugar flows, 

'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 
The wint'ry sun the day has clos'd. 

And I '11 awa to Nannie, O. 
The westlin' wind blaws loud an' shill ; 

The night 's baith mirk*" and rainy, O ; 
But I '11 get my plaid, an' out I '11 steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie 's charming, sweet, an' young ; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O ; 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O 
Her face is fair, her heart is true. 

As spotless as she 's bonnie, O ; 
The op'ning gowan* wet wi' dew, 

Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken' me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I 'm welcom.e ay to Nannie, O 

« Shrill. rDark. « Wild daisy. (Know. 



376 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

My riches a' 's my penny-fee," 
And I maun guide it eannie,* O ; 

But warl's gear'' ne'er troubles me. 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O, 

Our auld gudeman delights to view 

His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 
Cut I 'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh. 

An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 
Come weal, come woe, I care na by, 

I '11 tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 
Nae ither care in life hae I, 

But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 

O WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, 
MY LAD. 

The humour and fancy of ' Whistle an' I Ml come to you, mj 
lad,' will render it nearly as great a favourite as Unncan Gray. 
These songs of yours will descend with the music to the latest 
posterity. — Tho'iison (o Barns, 

CHORUS. 

O, whistle, ami I'll cotne to you, my lad, 
O, irhhtte, and Til come to you, my lad, 
Tho' father and milher and a' should gae mad, 
O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent,^ when ye come to court me. 
And come na unless the back-yett» be a-jee; 
Syne* up the back-style, and let naebody see. 
And come as ye were na comin' to me : 
And come as ye were na comin' to me. 
O whistle, &c. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as though that ye car'd na a flee: 
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee. 
Yet look as ye were na looking at me ; 
Yet look as ye were na looking at me. 
O whistle, &c. 

ti The wages earned and paid half-yearly, or yearly, to 
M» Dexterously. x Worldly riches, 

y Heed. z Gate. a Then. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 377 

Ay vow and protest that ye care rxa for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly'' my beauty a wee ;* 
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be. 
For fear that she wyle** your fancy frae me : 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
O whistle, &c. 



O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR. 

The t^vo last stanzas of this song' are old. Burns 
prefixed the two first. 

Tune — Hxighie Graham. 

O WEftE my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossom to the spring j 

And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing ; 

How I wad mourn when it was torn, 
By autumn wild and winter rude ; 

But I wad sing, on wanton wing. 

When youthfu' May its bloom renewed, 

O gin^ my love were yon red rose 
That grows upon the castle wa'. 

And I mysel a drap o' dew. 
Into her bonnie breast to fa' : 

O there beyond expression blest, 
I 'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 
Till fley'df awa by Phoebus' light. 

h SDMf at. c Little. . . d Beerultok 

e If. /Scared. 



378 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THIS IS i\0 MY AIN LASSIE. 

TlU ctiorus of the old son?, to the air of which this beavtifol 
lyric is written, is curious ;— 
This is nae my ain house, 

I ken oy the big'ipn o't— 
Bread an' cheese are the door checks. 
An' pancakes the riggin' o't.— 

Tune. — This is no my ain house. 
CHORUS. 
this is no mi/ aiuS lassie. 

Fair though ihe lassie be; 
O weel I ken my ain lassie, 
Kind lore is in her ee. 
I SEE a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that 's in her ee. 
O this is no, &c. 

She 's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And ay it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that 's in her ee. 
O this is no, &c. 

A thief sae pawkie'' is my Jean, 
To steal a blink by a' unseen ; 
But gleg' as light are lover's een. 
When kind love is in the ee. 
O this is no, &c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks. 

It may escape the learned clerks ; 

But weel the watching lover marks 

The kind love that 's in her ee. 

O this is no, &c. 

r Own. * Cunnin|r> < Quick* 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 379 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Burns was a member of this corps. He composed the following 
verses to stii..ulatc their patriotism ; for thouijh he deplored 
the corruptions in the administration of government at home, 
he was unwilling to exchange even them for foreign domina 

tiOD. 

Tune. — Push about the jorum. 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat 1 

Then let the louns'' beware, Sir ; 
There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon,' 

And Criffel"" sink, in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

O let us not like snarling tykes," 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap came in an unco loon/ 

And wi' rungP decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state. 

Perhaps a claut may fail in 't ; 
But deil a foreign tinker loon 

Shall ever ca' a nail in 't; 
Our fathers' blude the kettle bought, 

And wha would dare to spoil it. 
By Heaven the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it ! 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch (his true-born brother) 

k Fellows, ragamuffins. I A high hill at the source of the NItk. 

K A high mountain at tlie mouth of the same river. n Dog*. 

Strange fellow, a foreigner. p Cudgel. 



380 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Who 'd set the mob aboon the throne. 

May they be d — d together ! 
Who will not sing • God save the king,' 

Shall hang as high 's the steeple ; 
But while we sing ' God save the king/ 

We '11 ne'er forget the people. 

THE UNION. 

At a meeting of a select party of gentlemen to celebrate the birth- 
day of the lineal descendant of the Scottish race of king:s, the 
late unfortunate Prince Charles Stuart, Burns produced and 
sung the following song.. 

Tune. — Such a parcel of rogues i»t a nation, 

Faueweel to a' our Scottish fame, 

Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name 

Sae fam'd in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands • 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ' 

What force or guile could not subdue, 

"J'hrough many warlike ages. 
Is wrought now by a coward few. 

For hireliog traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain. 

Secure in valour's station. 
But English gold has been our bane : 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

O would, or I had seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld gray head had lien in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace t 
- But pith and power, till my last houi 

I 'II mak this declaration. 
We 're bought and sold for English gold : 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 381 



THE WINDING NITH. 

The Gaelic air to wliich tliis song: is adapted, is said to liave been 
composed by. Roderic Dull, an itinerant musician, formerlj 
well known in the Highlands of I'erthshire. He died abou» 
1780, at a very advanced ag-e. 

Tane.—Robie Donna Gorach. 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me. 

Where Cummins ance had high command : 
. When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear 1 
Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here 1 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom I 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom! 
Tho' wand'ring, now, must be my doom. 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes. 
May there iny latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ' 

MY HEART IS SAIR. 

Two additional verses were written for this song- by the late Mr. 
R. A. Smithj which are now printed along- with it in raost col- 
lections. 'Ihe new verses are not unworthy to accompany ♦he 
old. 

Tune.— r/ie Highland Watch's farewell. 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell. 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night. 
For the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around. 
For the sake o' somebody. 



382 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Ye Powers that s >ile on virtuous love, 

sweetly smile "^n somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 

And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 

1 wad do — what wad I not? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 

DELIA— AN ODE. 

This ode \v;is sent to the publisher of the London Star— in which 

paper it first appeared, with the following letter : — 
•Mr. Priiiter, — If the productions of a simple ploughman can 
merit a place in the same paper with Sylvester Otway,* and the 
other favourites of t!ie Muses, who illuminate the Star wiih the 
lu£tre cif g'enius, your insertion of the enclosed trifle will he suc- 
ceeded by future communications from 

Yours, &c. U. BURNS.' 
Ellisland, near Dumfries, May 18, 17ti9. 

Fair the face of orient day. 

Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 

More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbling lay. 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 

But, Delia, more delightful still 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flow'r-enamour'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 

Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 

— But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 

Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ; 
O let me steal one liquid kiss ; 

For, oh ! my soul is parch'd my love ! 

• The assumed name of a Mr. Oswald, an officer in tlie army, 
trho fre<iuently contributed verses to the Star newspaper. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 333 

COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST. 

;^Thls and the five following songs were addressed to Jean Armour, 
afterwards Mrs. Burns. 

Tune.— CauW Kail. 

Come, let me take thee to my breast. 
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; 

And I shall spurn, as vilest dust. 
The warld's wealth and grandeur •, 

And do I hear my Jeanie own 
That equal transports move her? 

I ask for dearest life alone. 
That 1 may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, v/i' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure ; 

I '11 seek nae mair o' heaven to share. 
Than sic a moment's pleasure : 

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear 1 'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow. 

And break it shall I never ! - 

I 'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN, 
T 'll ay ca'l in by yon town 

And by yon garden green again ; 
I '11 ay ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonnie Jean again. 
There's nane sail ken,"" there's nane sail guesi 

What brings me back the gate again, 
But she, my fairest, faithfu' lass ; 

And stowlins* we sail meet again. 

She *I1 wander by the aiken^-tree. 

When trystin'-time draws near again ; 

And when her lovely form I see, 
0, haith, she 's doubly dear again. 

flCaJl. r Shall know. jlns.eret. « Oak. 



384 SONGS AND HALLADS. 



THE RANTING DOG THE DADDIE OT. 

E jrng says—* I composed this sonp pretty early in life, and sent 
It to a young g-irl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who 
«nu at that time under a cloud.' 

Tune.— £af/ neuk o* Flje. 

O WHA my baby clouts" will buy ■» 
Wha will teiit^^ me when I cry \ 
Wha will kiss me whare 1 lie? 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will own he did the fautl* 
Wha will buy my groanin'-maut '?y 
Wha will tell m.e how to ca't? 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the creepie-chair,« 
Wha will sit beside me there 1 
Gie me Rob, 1 seek nae mair, 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will crack to me my lane 1* 
Wha will mak me fidgin' fainl 
W^ha will kiss me owre again'? 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 



OF A- THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLiVW. 

This song was written in honour of Mrs. Burns, 
during the honey-moon. 

Tune.— Miijc Admiral Gordon's Strathspey. 

Of a' the airts*^ the wind can blaw, 

1 dearly like the west ; 
For there the bonnie lassie lives. 

The lassie 1 lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,« 

And monie a hill between j 

I Ck.tlies. w Heed. x Fault. y Malt. 

z Siool of repenui.ce. a Talk to me in secret. 

i Qaarui;^ of tlie Heavens— i. e. East, West, North, or SoutB. 

r Roll. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 366 

But day and night my fancy's flight 
Is ever wi' my Jean, 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds 

1 hear her charm the air : 
There s not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or greeu, 
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jecm. 

O WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL 

This sonsj was also written in honour of Mrs. Burns, 
aoout the some time as the preceding. 

Tunc. — My love is lost to me. 

WERE I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear 1 love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My muse maun be thy bonnie sel' ; 
On Corsincon I '11 glow'r*^ and spell. 

And write how dear I love thee I 

Then come, sweet IMuse, inspire my lay 
For a' the lee-lang*-' simmer's day, 

1 coudna sing, I coudna say, 

How much — how dear 1 love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist sae jimp,*^ thy limbs sae cleaa. 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — 

By heaven and earth 1 love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame; 

d To look with earnest and l.ved attention. 
e iJve-lon<r, J Slender, 

s 



38(> SONGS AND JJALLADS. 

And ay 1 muse and sing thy name : 

1 only live to love thee. 
The' I were doom'd to wander on. 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun. 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 
'Till then — and then I love thee. 



CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 

Craigie-burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, 
about tliree miles distant from the villafje of that name, cele- 
brated for its medicinal waters. This wood and tlKit of Duiv 
crieff were at one Lime favourite haunts of liurns. it was there 
he met the • Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,' and composed 
Mveral of his song 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blythe awakes the morrow. 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nochts but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But what a weary wight can please. 

And care his bosom wringing 1 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

If iLou refuse to pity me. 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree^ 

Around my grave they '11 wither 1 

g I'ougliU 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 387 



MACPHERSON'S FAEEAVELL. 

^rns composed this song: to the heautiful air of ' Macpherson's 
Farewell.' Macpherson was a famous robber in the beg-imiini; 
of the last century, and was condemned to be hunted at the 
assizes at Inverness. His exploits, however, as a freebooier, 
were debased by no act of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, 
the fatherless, or the distrtssed; nor was any murd.'r ever 
committed under his command. A dispute witli one of his own 
troo[), who wished to plundej- a jenilenian's house while his 
wife and two children lay on the'bier for interment, was the 
cause of his bein^ betrayed to the vengeance of the law. He 
was an admirable performer on the violin, and his talent for 
musical composition is evinced not only in his ' Runt' and ' Pi 
hroch,' but also in his ' Farewiil,' which he composed while he 
was in prison under sentence of death. He phiyed his ' Fare 
well' at the foot of the gallows ; and thci. broke l.ls violin over 
his knee. He died with tlie same fortitude as he had lived— a 
etrap.arer to repentance, to remorse, and to fear. Hi* sworil it 
etiU preserved at Duff-liouse, a residence of tlie Earl of Fife. 

Ttiiie. — Macpherson's Farewell. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong. 

The wretch's destinie ! 
Macpherson's time will not be long, 

On yonder gallows-tree. 



Sae ranthiglif, sae wantonly. 

Sue dauntingly gaed he ; 
He fla^d a spriyig and danced it round, 

Below the galloxcS'tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath 1 

On monie a bludle plain 
I 've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I tcorn him yet again ! 
Sae rantingly, &,c. 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 

And bring to me my sword ; 
And there 's not a man in all Scotland, 

But I '11 brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, &c. 



388 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

1 've liv'd a life of stur'j and strife} 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 
Sae /antingly, &c. 

Now farewell light, tliou sunshine bright. 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his "name, 

'I'he wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rantingly, &c. 

HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. 

'How lonsr and dresry is tlie ni?lil:' "1 rnot with some such 
words," says Burns, "in a ccllecl'on of soujs soniewliure, 
whicti I liave altered and enlrir^tfl, and made tosiiit my fuvouriCe 
air, Cauld kail in Aberdeen." 

T\ine.—Cauld kail in Aberdeen, 

How lang and dreary is the night, 

When I am frae my dearie ! 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary 

CHORUS. 

For oh, her lanetif Jiights are lang; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie ^ 
And oh, herwidow'd heart ii sair. 

That 's absent frae Iter dearie! 

When I think on the lightsome days 

1 spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 
And now what seas between us roar. 
How can 1 be but eerie 1 
For oh, &.C. 
How slow ye, move, ye heavy hours! 

The joyless day, how drearie ! 
It was na sae ye glinted' by, 
When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 
rroublr, k Frightful. I Peeped, pasiied quicK ly. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 989 

BONNIE PEG. 

First published in tlie Edinburgh Magazine for 1818- 

As I came in by our gate end. 

As day was waxin' weary, 
O vvha came tripping down the street. 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 

Wi' nae proportion wanting, 
The Queen of Love did never move 

Wi* motion mair enchanting. 

Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

A-down yon winding river ; 
And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower. 

Can I forget it ever 1 

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 

Burns has written notliinj of the kind better, than the following 
happy and most excellent sonj. ' The old proverbial lore,' says 
Allan Cunningham, ' lends wisdom to the verse, the love of 
freedom is delicately expressed and vindicated, the sorrows of 
life are softened by sons^, and drink seems only to flow to set 
the tongue of tlie muse a-monnj.' 

Tune,— Lumps o' Pudding. 

Contented wi' little, and cantie™ wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp," as they 're creepin' alang, 
Wi' a cof° o' gude swats,P and an auld Scottish 
sang. 

I whyles clawi the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught J 
My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, 
Aud my freedom's my Jairdship nae monarch dare 
touch. 

m Cheerful. n Slap, a smart stroke. o Wooden dish. 
p Ale. g Scratch. r Figlit. 



3<W SONGS AND BALLADS 

A towinond" o' trouble, should that be my ta*,* 
A niglit o' i^-^ude fellowship sovvthers" it a': 
Wlien at the blythe end o' our journey at last, 
Wha the Deil ever thinks o' the road he has pasti 

Blind enhance, let her snapper^' and stoyte* on her 

way; 
Be 't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the jad gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain, 
My warst word is, ' Welcome, and welcome again 1' 

WANDERING WILLIE. 

Perliaps in this song Burns has not much improved upon the old 
' Here awa, tiiere awa, wandering Willie.' 

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame ;' 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our partmg, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers. 
How your dread howling a lover alarms' 

Wauken ye breezes, row* gently ye billows, 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main , 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

But, dying, believe that my Willie 's my ain ! 

« Twelvemonth. t Fate. u Cements. v> Stumble. 
X &Uj;ger. y Hold away home. z Roll. 



SONGS AND [5.\LLA1)S. 39) 



OPEN THE DOOll TO ME, OH! 

Written to the old air of Lord Gregory ; the second line was 
oriipnally, ' If love it may aa be, Oh '.' 

Oh, open the door, some pity to sliew. 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me. Oh' 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek. 

But caulder thy love for me. Oh ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart. 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh I 

The vs^an moon is setting behind the white v/ave. 

And time is setting with me. Oh ! 
Ealse friends, false love, farewell ! for inair 

I '11 ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide. 
She sees his pale corse on the plain. Oh ! 

' My true love !' she cried, and sank down by his 
Never to rise again. Oh [side, 



MY NANNIE'S AW A. 

Tw.ic— There 'U never be peace tiUJamie comes hame. 

rue air to which this pretty pastoral song: «s united, was a favourite 
of Burns's. He wrote some excellent Jacobite verses to the 
same tune. 

Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes. 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ;• 
But to me it 's delightless — my Nannie 's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose cur woodlands adorn. 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw. 
They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie 's awa. 

a Evcrv small wood. 



302 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Thou lav 'rock'' that springs frae the dews o' the 

lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis,*= that hails the night-fa'. 
Give over for pity — my Nannie 's awa. 

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And soothe me vvi' tidings o' nature's decay; 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa. 

MEG O' THE MILL. 

Tune. — bonntc las.t,tciU ye lie in a barrack ' 

This son? was originally written to a fine old air, called Jackie 
Humt's Lament, but altered to suit the present tune. There ii 
nnother and an older Mci; o' the Mill, which begins— 
O ken ye what Meg: o' ihe Mill nas gotten ? 
O ken ye whiit Meg o' the Mill luis gotten ! 
A braw new gow|i,"an' the tail o'it rotten. 
An' that's whut Mego' the Mill has gotten. 

O KK.N ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a cooN wi' a claut*^ o' silier. 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The miller was strappin,' the miller was ruddy; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady ; 
The laird was a widdiefu','' bleerit knurl ;? 
She 's left the gude fellow and taen the churl. 
The miller h^ hecht'^ her a heart leal and loving • 
Tl'e laird did address her wi' matter mair moving : 
A fine pacing horse, wi' a clear-chained bridle, 
A vvhip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin' ! 
And wae on the love that 's fixed on a mailen !> 
A tocher 's'' nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl' ! 

6 Lark, c Tlirusli. d Blockhead, c Great quantity of silver. 

f Deserving the*g;illows. s Bleared dwar.'. A' Offered. 

i F;irm. * Marriag^e portion. 



SONGS AND BALLADS 393 

THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 

These verses were composed on Miss Hamilton,* sister tc 
Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding 
Devon, [blooming fair ; 

With green -spreading bushes, and flowers 
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
• In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower. 

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew ! 
O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes. 

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ! 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn. 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies. 

And England triumphantdisplay her proud rose; 
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys. 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 

AULD ROB MORRIS. 

The two first lines of this soner are taken from an old 
ballad. The rest ?ire original. 

Theres 's auld Rob Morris who wons' in yon glen. 
He 's the king o' gude fellows and wale"" of auld 

men ; 
He has gowd in his cofters, he has owsen and kine. 
And ae bonnie lass, his darling and mine. 
She 's fresh as the morning, the fairest in INIay ; 
She 's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay , 
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. 

• To this lady Burns addressed several letters, which are 

unfortunately lost. 

/ Dwells. m Choice. 

S2 



394 SONGS AND BALLADS 

But, oh ! she 's an heiress, auld R,obin 's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and 

yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed. 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; 
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist. 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me; 

how past describing had then been my bliss. 
As now my distraction no words can express ! 

THE BRAW WOOER. 

The original of thissonj, the Lotliian Lassie, consistrd of som 
nine or ten very silly verses ; one of it;em may be quoted :— 

' The mither cried butt the house, Jockie come liere. 
Ye 've naething- to do but the onestion to speir— 
The question was speir'd, and the barg-ain was struck. 
The neebours came in and wish'd them gudc luck.' 

Tune.— ^Ihian Lassie. 

Last May a braw" wooer cam down the langglen. 
And sair wi' his love he did deave" me ; 

1 said there was naething I hated like men ! 
The deuce gae wi' 'm to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi' 'm to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een 
And vow'd for my love he was dying : 

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 
1 he Lord forgie me for lying. 

A weel-stocked mailen,P himsel for llic laird. 
And marriage, afF-hand, were his proffers, 

t Handsome. o Deafen. p \ wt-U stink.'! {.inn. 



SONGS AND BALIoADS. 395 

I never looti on that I kend it, or car'd, 

Butthoughtlmight hae waur''ofrers,waur offeis, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 
(The deil tak his taste to gae near her !) 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 
Guess ye how, the jad [ I could bear her, could 

bear her. 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the neist week as I fretted wi' care, 
I gaed to the tryste^ o' Dalgarnock, 

A.nd wha but my fine fickle wooer was there ; 
I glowr'd* as I 'd seen a warlock," a warlock, 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 

lly wooer he caper'd as he 'd been in drink. 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd"' for my cousin, fu' couthy'' and sweet. 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin'. 

And how her new shoony fit her auld shackl'd feet ; 
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin', a-sv/earin'. 
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin'. 

He begged, for gudesake ! I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : 

So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

1 think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



<j Ltt. r Worse. s Fair. t S(are«2. 

« A wizard. w Inquired. r Loving. y 



SW SONGS AND BALLADS. 

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI' 
AN AULD xMANi 

Burns is indebtea to an old son^ for the foVlowIn? happy and 
very graphic verses. They were written for Johnson's Museum. 

Tune.— WAa/ can a lassie do ? 

What can a young lassie, whatshall a younglassie. 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie* 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 
Bad luck on the pennie, &:c. 

He 's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', 
He hosts'* and he hirples^ the weary day lang ; 
He 's doyl't'^ and he 's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, 

dreary 's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He's doyl't and he 's dozin', &c. 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 

1 never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He 's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows, 

dool<^ on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

He 's peevish and jealous, &c. 

My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity, 

1 '11 do my endeavour to follow her plan : 

1 '11 cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break 
him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 
I '11 cross him, and wrack him, &c. 

HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHEK. 

Vour • Jiey for a lass wi' a tocher' is excellent, and with you 
the subject is new indeed. It is the first time 1 have seen you 
debasing' the god of soft desire into an amateur of acres and 

. (guineas. — Thomson. 

Tune.— 'Balinamona ora. 

AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms ; 

t Mother. a Coughs. 6 Creeps, or walk* cruily 

c Stupid. d Sorrow. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. aO? 

O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey for a lass wV a tocher,^ 
Then hey for a lass xoi a tocher. 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

Your beauty 's a flower in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green 
knowes,'^ [yowes.s 

Ilk spring they 're new deckit wi' bonnie white 
Then hey, &c. 

And ev'n when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possest ; 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest. 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they 're carest. 
Then hey, &c. 

THE BIG-BELLY'D BOTTLE. 

To two old ' bottle' son js we are partly indebted for tlie follow- 
ing verses. From the one the Poet has borrowed the title : 
from the other the tune. 

Tune. — Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern leVsJIy, 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman or soldier to plot or to fight. 
No sly man of business contriving some snare. 
For a big-belly 'd bottle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 
I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low ; 
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here. 
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse 
There centum per centum the cit with his purse ; 

r A marriage portion f Hillocks. g Ewes. 



398 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But see you the Crown, how it waves in the air, 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair. 
That a big belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 

[ once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; 
But the puTsy old landlord just waddled upstairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

* Life's cares they are comforts''' — a maxim laid 
down [black gown ; 

By the bard, what d 'ye call him, that wore the 
And faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
For a big-belly'd bottle 's a heaven of care. 

A stajiza added in a Mason Lodge. 
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care. 



SONG OF DEATH. 

The ciicumstaiice,' says Burns, ' that gave rise lo ihe following 
verses, was looking over, with a musical Iriend, M'Uonald's 
Collection of Highland airs. 1 was strucif with one. entitled 
" Oran an Auig," or " The song of Death," to the measure of 
which I have adapted my stanzas.' 
Scene— A field of battle. Time of the day— Evening. The wound- 
ed and dying of the victorious army are supposed lo join in 
the song. 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and 
ye skies. 

Now gay with the bright setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender 

Our race of existence is run ! [ties, 

h Young's Night Thoughts. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 399 

Thou grim king- of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe. 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know. 

No terrors hast thou for the brave! 

Thou strik'st the poor peasant — he sinks in the 
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : [dark^ 

Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 
He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 

In the field of proud honour — our swords in our 
Our king and our country to save — [hands, 

While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands — 
Oh ! who would not die with the brave 1 

OUT-OVER THE FOllTH, &c. 

The second of the followin;^ verses was first published by Currie, 
the first by Croraek. iJnited, tliey make an exquisite little 
song. 

Out-over the Forth I look to the north. 

But what is the north and its Highlands to mel 

The south nor the east give ease to my breast. 
The far foreign land, nor the wild rolling sea. 

But 1 look to the west, when I gae to rest. 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, [be, 

The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 

BY YON CASTLE WA', &c. 

Written in imitation of an old Jacobite son?, of which the fol 

lowing are two lines — ~ 

My lord 's lost his land, and my lady her name, 

There '11 never be right till Jamie comes hanie. 

By yon castle wa', at the close o' the day, 
1 heard a man sing, though his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
The church is in ruins, the state is in jars. 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; 






400 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha 's to blame—* 
There 'H never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
My seven brav/ sons for Jamie drew sword. 
And now I greet round their green beds in the 

yird -^^ 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
Now life is a burden that sair bows me down. 
Sin' I tint' my bairns,™ and he tint his crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

•When Prince Charles Stuart saw that utter ruin had fallen on 
all those who loved him and fou},'ht for iiim — iliat the axe and 
Ihe cord were busy with their persons, and that their wivea 
and children were driven desolate, he is supposed hy Burns to 
have given utterance to his feeling^s in this Lament.^— Allan 
Cunningham, 

■ Tune.— Captain 0' Kaine. 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves re- 
turning- ; [vale ; 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the 
The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the 
morning, [dale : 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the greea 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 

While the lingering moments are number'd by 

care 1 [singing, 

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly 
Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne ? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these 

valleys, [find none. 

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 401 

But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn. 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I moari) ; 

Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I malte you no sweeter return ] 

THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE, &c. 

* Love of country and domestic affection !iave combined to en- 
deur tiiis son^ to every bosom. It was written in honour ol 
Mrs. Burns.' — Allan Cunningham, 

Tune. — Humours of Glen. 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands 
reckon. 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the per- 
fume. 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan," 
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow 
broom : 
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly 
unseen : 
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace. 
What are they? the haunt o' the tyrant and 
slave ! 
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling foun- 
tains. 
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his moun- 
tains. 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' hia 
Jean. 

H Ferit. 



W^ 



402 SON(;S AND IJALLADS. 

CALEDONIA. 

This exceljcnt national son? was first publislied by t)r. Currlc 
Jt hai never become j)0(>iilar, liowever. The worda an<J tha 
tune are by no means a very suitable pair. 

1 une.— The Caledonian Hunt's Delight. 

1 HKnii was once a day, but old Time then was 
young, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line. 
From some of your northern deities sprung, 

(W ho linows not that brave Caledonia's divine 1) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain. 

To liunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign. 

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it 
good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew: 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore — 

'VVhoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter 
shall rue! 
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling 
corn ; 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort; 

Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 

Long quiet she reigned ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand :° 
Repeated, successive, for many long years, [land : 

i'hey darken'd the air, and they plunder 'd the 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry. 

They 'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside : 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell hai-py-raven took wing from tlie north, 
The scourge of the seas and the dread of the 
shore ;P 

The Romans. p The Saxon.<. 



SONGS AMD BALLADS. 403 

The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore. ;'i 

O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 
No arts could appease them, no arms could repel •, 

Bu* brave Caledonia in vain they assaii'd, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell/ 

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life :• 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, [flood ; 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver 
But taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd and free. 

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I '11 prove it from F^uclid as clear as the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we '11 choose, 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base ; 
But brave Caledonia 's the hypothenuse ; 

Then ergo she '11 match them and match them 
always.' 

<j The Danes. 

r The two famous battles in vliich the Danes or Norwegians 
were defeated. 

« The Highlanders of the Isles. 

t This singular figure of poetry refers to the famous proposition 
of Pythagoras, the 47th of EucliJ. In a rieht-ansled triangle. th« 
square of the hypothenuse is always equal to the squares of Uw 
two other Hide*. 



404 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE WHISTLE. 

• As the authentic prose history of the Whistle Is curious/ »ays 
Burns, ' 1 shall here give it.' 

'In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland 
with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentle- 
man of g-israntic stature and great prowess, and a matchless 
champion "of Bacchus. He had a little ebony W histle, which, at 
the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the table, and 
whoever was last able to blow it, every body else beina: disabled 
by the r/)tency of the bottle, was to carry ofl" the Whistle as a 
trophy o*f victory. The Dane produced credentials of his vic- 
tories, without a sinprle defeat, at t!ie courts of Copenhag:en, 
StocKholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several oi the petty courts in 
Germany ; and challenged the Scots bacchanalians to the alter- 
native of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their 
inferiority. 

' After uian'y'overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was 
encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of 
the present vrorthy baronet of that name; who., after three days 
an<l three nights' hard contest, left tlie Scandinavian under the 
table. 

' And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

' Sir»VV4lter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, afterward lost 
the Whistle to Walter Uiddell of Glenriddel, who had married 
a sister of Sir Walter's. 

« On Friday the 16lh of October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whistle 
was once more coiUendsd for, as related in the ballad, by the 
present Sir Robert Lawrie of IMaxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq. 
of GlenrUidcl, lineal descendant and representative of Walter 
Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had con- 
tinued ; and Alexander Fersrusson, l"sq. of Crai','darroch, like- 
wise descended of the great Sir Robert ; which last gentleman 
carried off the hard-won honours of the field.' 

I SING of a Whistle, a whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda," Still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
• This Whistle 's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, 
\nd drink them to hell. Sir ! or ne'er see me more ! 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions .ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still. 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

n See Ossian'* Caric-Thura. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 405 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur.* 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war. 
He drank, his poor god ship as deep as the sea. 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus, Robert, victorious, the triumph has gain'dj 
Which now in his house has for ages reinain'J ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan. 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man 

' By the gods of the ancients !' Glenriddel replies, 
* Before 1 surrender so glorious a prize, 
I 'U conjure the ghost of the great Rorle More,'' 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.' 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech could pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe or his friend, 
Said, * Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he 'd die, or he 'd yieid.' 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; [fame. 
But for wine and for welcome not more known to 
Than the sense,wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. 

A Bard was selected to witness the fray. 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

w Of 8 mountainous and rocky district. 
* See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrlde*. 



406 SONGS AND lULLADS. 

The diiiiier being over, the claret they ply, 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er : 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core. 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn. 
Till Cynthia hinted he 'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage. 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would v/age : 
A high-ruling Elder to wallow in Vv'ine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 
The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend? 
Tho' fate said — a hero should perish in light ; 
So up rose bright Phoebus — and down fell the 
knight. 

Next up rose our Bard, like a prophet in drmk : 
* Craigdarroch. thou 'It soar when creation shall 

sink ! 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme. 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 
' Thy line, that has struggled for freedom with 

Bruce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce ; 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day !' 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 407 



AFION WATER. 

«<fton Water is one of the tributary streams of the Nilh. The 
sonsr was written in honour of Mrs. Diirald Stewart, of 
Afton Loil"e, a lady of consiilcrable literary abilities. She wrote 
the beautiful and well-known song—* The tears I shed must 
ever fall.' 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among the green braes, 
Flow gently, 1 '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen. 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. 
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear 
1 charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills. 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rilli : 
There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pVasant thy banks and green valleys beloWj 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow : 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea. 
The sweet-scented birk* shades my JMary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. 
As gath'ring ^weet fiow'rets she stems thy clear 
wave. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,* 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
IMy Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



X Birch-tree. a The slope of a Mil. 



408 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

THE BELLES OF MAIJCHLINE. 

This is one of our Banl's early proJiictions.— Miss Armour 
was afterward Mrs. Burns. 

'fane, — Bomiie Ihotdve, 

fx JNIaucliline there dwells six proper young- Belles, 

The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a*, 
Their carriage and dress, a stranger would gues-S 

In Lon'on or Paris they 'd gotten it a' : 
Miss IMiller is fine, Ptliss Markland 's divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and JMiss Fietty is braw ; 
There 's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, 

But Armour 's the jewel for me o' tliem a'. 

I\IY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 

Tune.— Highlander's Lament, 

' T\\p. oiliest title,* »ay» Burns, • I ever heard fn iliis air was "Ti)e 
Hijjlilnnd Wateh'f Farewell to freland." The cliorus \ picked 
up from an old woman in Dunblane ; tlie rest of llie song )* 
mine.* 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strade he on the plain ? 

But now he 's banish'd far away, 
I ni never see him back again. 

CHonus. 
Ofor him hack a (rain, 

O for him hack agaiji, 
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie^s land. 

For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave*^ gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie*^ up the glen ; 

I at me down and greet*' my fill. 
And ay I wish him back again. 
O for him, &c. 

O were some villains hangit high, 
And ilka body had their ain, 
c KetU d Worn witli f ricf. e Cry. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 400 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 
My Highland Harry back again '. 
O for him, &c. 

WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR PILOT STOOD, 

A Fragment. 

This ballad made ita first appearance in the Edinburgh edition of 

the Poet's works. When Dr. Blair read it, he uttered this 

pithy criticism—' Burns's politics always smell of the smithy.' 

Tune. — Gillicranhic, 

When Guilford good our pilot stood, 

And did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,*" 

And in the sea did jaw.ff man ; 
An' did nae less, in full congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 
Then thro' the lakes IMontgomery tales, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ! 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi* sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 
Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe* 

For Philadelphia, man : 
Wi* sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian blood to draw, man ; 
But at New- York, wi' knife an' fork. 

Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 

/ Tea-pot. 
g To pour out— to jerk, or cast away. It will be recollecteu 
that when the English parliament imposed an ex<ise duty upon 
tea imported into North America, the East India Company sent 
several ships laden witii that article to Boston, aitd the natives 
went on board those ships by force of arms, and emptied all tiij 
cheib of tea into the sea. A A hillock. 

T 



41C SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip. 

Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornwallis fought as lang 's he dought. 

An' did the buckskins'' claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive' frae rust to save. 

He hung it to the wa', maw. 

Then Montague, and Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure,"^ wha stood the stoure," 

The German chief to thraw, man : 
. For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box. 

And lows'd his tinkler** jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till death did on him ca', man ; 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise. 

They did his measures thrav/, man. 
For North an' Fox united stocks. 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a ssj.v faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads.P 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man : 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

' Up, Willie, wauri them a', man !' 

i Was able. k Natives of Virginia. 

I A sword. w Stout, stubborn. n Dust. 

Ij8t loot-e in a strain of coarse raillery ngaiiist the Ministry. 

p Proclamation. q To worst— to defeat. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. IIJ 

Behind tne throne then Grenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman \va', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith,'^ 

(Inspired bardies saw, man) 
\Vi' kindling eyes cry'd, * Willie, rise! 

Would 1 hae fear'd thern a', man V 

But, word an' blow. North, Fox, and Co. 

Gowff'd* Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron' raise, and coost their claise* 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone. 

An' did her whittle^^ draw, man ; 
An' swoor" f"u' rude, thro' dirt an' blood 

To make it guid in law, man. 



NOW W^ESTLIN' WINDS, &c. 

This Is an early production. It was publislied in the Kllraariisdt 
edition. 

Tune. — / had a horse, I had nae mair. 

Now westlin' winds, and slaught'ring guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rov5 at night, 

To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ;? 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 

r Dress, accoutrements. s Struck. 

I An old name for trie Ensriisli nation. u Cast their clothese 

10 Knife, or s\vbrd. x Swore. 

y A field pretty level on the side or top of a hill. 



412 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Thro' lofty groves the cushat* roves 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

Tiie savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine j 

Some solitary wander : 
Avauut, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry. 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! 

But Peggy dear, the ev'ning 's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow : 
The sky is blue, the fields in view. 

All fading-green and yellow: 
Come let us stray our gladsome way. 

And view the charms of nature ! 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn. 

And every happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk. 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I '11 grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest. 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer. 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 

TO MARY. 

'In my early years, when I was thinking of TOlns: to theVfcBtlndlilW 
I took tfiis fareweel of a dear girl.'— Burns to Thdmtvn. 

TunCi — Ewc-bughls, Marlon, 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore 1 

X The dove, or wood-pigeon. 




tr 



Cr//y 



SONGS AND BALLADS 418 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across th' Atlantic's roar 1 

sweet grows the lime and the orange. 
And the apple on the pine ; 

But a' the charms o' the Indies, 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; 

And sae may the Heavens forget me, 

When I forget my vow ! 
O plight me your faith, my Mary, 

And plight me your hly-white hand ; 
O plight me your faith, my JMary, 

Before I leave Scotia's strand. 
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join, 
And curst be the cause that shall part us ! 

The hour and the moment o' time ! 

MY WIFE 'S A WINSOM WEE THING. 

•These lines,' says Burns, 'are extempore. I might have tried 
something more profouml, vot it lui^'lit not have suited the light- 
horse gallop of the air so well as this random clinft.' 

She is a winsome'* wee*" thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thinp^, 
Tins' sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 
I never lo'ed a dearer, 
And neist« my heart I '11 wear her, 
For fear my jewel tine.** 
She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife of mine. 

a Gay. ( Uttle. c Nearest. d Be lo»L 



410 SONGS AND BALLADS 

Down in a shady walk, 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may Fortune be, 
Such make his destiny, 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the fair. 

HAD I A CAVE, &c. 

To the same Tune. 

An unfortunate circumstance which happened to li is friend Can- 
ningliam, sug^getted this fine pathetic ioug to the Poet's fancy« 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar, 

There would 1 weep my woes, 

There seek my lost repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close. 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst tliou declare, 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air ? 

To thy new lover hie, 

Laugh o'er thy perjury. 

Then in thy bosom try, 
What peace is there ! 

ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

* A favourite air of mine,* says Burns, ' is tlie nuickin' o' GeorJie's 
Byre, when »\ing slow, with exprexsioii, 1 liuve often wished 
that it had had better poetry : that I have endeavoured to sup- 
ply as follows.' 

Tune.— TAe muckin* o' Geordic's Byre. 

A DOWN winding Nith I did wander, 

Tc mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 417 



Awa wi' your belles and your beautie$, 
They never wC her can compare ; 

Whaever has met tvi' my Phillis, 
Has met wV the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fanoy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phiilis, 

For she is smiplicity's child, 
Awa, 6cc. 

The rose-bud 's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast 
Awa, &c. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
They ne'er wi' my Pliillis can vie : 

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine. 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, &.C. 

Her voice is the song of the morning, 

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove. 

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, »?icc. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting. 
The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 

While worth in the mind o' my PhilUs 
W^ill. flourish without a decay. 
Awa, &c 



T2 



418 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

•I do not think "On the Seas and far away" one of your Terj 
bsppy productions, though it certainly contains stanzas that an 
woptUiv of all acceptation.'— r//o»tion lo Burns 

Tune.— OVr the Hills, 4-c. 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad l 
How can I the thought forego. 
He 's on the seas to meet the foe 1 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that 's far away. 

CHORUS. 
On the seas and far awaif, 
On stor7ny seas and Jar away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day, 
Are ay witli him that 's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate do with me what you may. 
Spare but him that *s far away ! 
On the seas, &c. 

At the starless midnight hour. 
When winter rules with boundless power j 
As the storms the forest tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air. 
Listening to the doubling roar. 
Surging on the rocky shore, 
All 1 can — I weep and pray. 
For his weal that 's far away. 
On the seas, &c. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 419 

Peace, thy olive wand oxteml, 
And bid wild war his ravage end, 
Man with biother man to meet, 
xlnd as a brother kindly greet : 
Then nay heaven with prosp'rous gales, 
Fill my sailor's welcome sails. 
To my arms their charge convey, 
My dear lad that 's far away. 
On the seas, &c. 

SAW YE MY PHELY? 

Written for the Museiiai. The air must have been altered to suit 
ihe present verses, as the measure of the old song is very dif- 
ferent—' When slie cam ben she bobbit^'u' low.^ 

Tune. — When she cam ben she bohlit. 

O SAAv ye my dear, my Phely 1 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She 's down i' the grove, she 's wi' a new love, 
She winna"^ come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely 1 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee her Willy. 

had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause' as thou's fair, 
Thou 's broken the heart o' tliy Willy. 

LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. 

Duncan Gray was a favourite air of the Poet's. He had already 

written to it his adnvirable Scottish song-, ' Duncan Gray cam 

here to woo.' Tlie following is an attempt to dress il in English. 

Tune. — Duncan Gray. 

Let not woman e'er complain. 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain. 

Fickle man is apt to rove : 

ft Will not. I False. 



420 SOxNGS AND BALLADS. 

Look abroad through Nature's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove '* 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies : 
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 

Sun and moon but set to rise. 

Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of silly man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan? 
We '11 be constant while we can — • 
You can be no more, you know. 

SLEEP'ST THOU, OR WAK'ST THOU, &c. 

Written for ThoniBon's Collecfioii. For some curious alteration* 
of tliis song:, see Currie's edition, vol. iv. page 137. 

Time.— Veil tak the Wars. 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ? 

Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 
Numbering ilka™ bud which Nature 

Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now to the streaming fountain. 

Or up the heathy mountain. 
Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray; 

The lintwhite" in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower; 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade, 
Nature gladdening and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When frae my Chloris parted. 

Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, [sky; 

Night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my 

m Every n Liinet. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 421 

But when, in beauty's light, 
She meets my ravish'd sight, 
When througli my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart ; 
Tis then 1 wake to life, to light, and joy. 

MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN 
THE GROVES. 

How do you like,' snys Burns to Tliomson, ' tlie simplicity an4 

tciiJeniess of this pastoral !— I think i* pretty well.* 

Tune. — My lodging is on the cold grotind. 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 

The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, 1 ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' :"» 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blythe, in the birken shaw." 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as oura 

Beneath the milk-white thorn 1 

The shepherd, in the flow'ry glen. 

In shepherd's phrase will woo ; 
The courtier tells a finer tale, 

But is his heart as true 1 

These wild-wood flowers 1 've pu'd," to deck 

That spotless breast o thine : 
The courtiers' gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 
m HalU n Small wood in a hollow. o Piilltd, gathered. 



422 SO>^GS AM» BALLADS. 

IT WAS TKE CHARMING MONTH OF MAV. 

Altered from an old English Sang'. 
Tune.— X>.ii«/}r Davie. 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flow'rs were fresli and gay» 
One morning by the break of day. 
The youthful, charming Chloe ; 

from peaceful slumber the arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

cnonus. 
Lovely was she by the dtitvyt. 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
Tripping o'er the pearly laum, 

The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people you might see, 
Perch'd all around on every tree. 
In notes of sweetest melody, 
They hail the charming Chloe ; 

Till, painting gay the eastern skies. 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, &c. 

FAREWELL THOU STREAM, &c. 

This song lias nothinj^ in common with the old vert w 
' Nancy's to tlie greenwood gane. 
To gain her love" by flattering.' 

Tnne.— Nancy 's to the greenwood gone. 

Farewell thou stream that winding flows 

Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
O memory spare the cruel throes 

Within my bosom swelling : 



fc^OMGS AND BALLADS. 4ag 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish. 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 

Nor dare disclose my angiush. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 
I know thou doom'st me to despair, 

Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ; 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer. 

For pity's sake forgive me. 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd. 

Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
*AIid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin 

PHILLYP AND WILLY.— A DUET. 

• I am much pleased,' savs the Pod, in a letter to George Thorn* 
son, *vvith yoitr idea of singing' oiirso)i£rs in alternate ttanzaM; 
I regret that you did not hint it to me sooner.' 

Time.— IVie Sola's Tail, 



O PmLLY, happy be that day 
When roving through the gather'd hay. 
My youthfu' heart was stown away. 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 



O Willy, ay 1 bless the grove 
Where lirst I own'd my maiden love, 

V The common abI)roviatiou of Philltt. 



424 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be mv ain deaj VVilK 



As songsters oi the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 



As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows. 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love 1 bear my VVilly. 



The milder sun and bluer sky. 
That crown my harvest cares wi* joy. 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eyo 
As is a sight o' Philly. 



The little swallow's wanton wing, 
'J'ho' wafting o'er the flowery spring. 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 



The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 



The woodbine in the dewy wcet 
When evening shades in silence meef; 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willv. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. ,125 

HE. 

Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tyne.i and knaves may win ; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that 's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE, 

What 's a' the joys that gowd"" can gie ' 
I care na wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love 's the lad for me, 
And that 's my ain dear Willy. 

»:anst thou leave me thus, my katyt 

Of this song, Burns says, 'Well ! I think, to be done in two or 
f •i^.^!'''r across my room, and witli two or three pinches ol 
Irish blackfjUard,* it is not so far amiss.' 

Tune.— Roy's Wife, 
CHORUS. 
Cami thou leave me thus, my Katyf 
Const thou leave me thus, iny Katy T 
Well thou hnowht my aching heart, 
Aud canst thou leave me thus for pity f 
Is this thy plighted, fond regard. 

Thus cruelly to part, my Katy 1 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 
Canst thou, &c. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear— 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, &c. 

q LoM* r Gold. • Snoi^ 



426 i^ONGS AM) BALLADS. 

'TWAS ^A HER BONNIE BLUE EE 
WAS MY RUIN. 

Tbe following is a verse of the old tong :— 
* L&ng hae we parted been, lassie my dearie, 
Now we are met a^in, lassie lie near me ; 
Near me, near nie, lassie lie near me, 
Lanjj hast thou lien thy lane, lassie lie near me.' 

Tune. — Lassie, lie near me. 

*TwAs na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown* glance o' 
kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever. 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 

Mary, I 'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! 
And thou 'rt the angel that never can alter, 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 

HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. 

Altered from an old English song:. 
Tune. — John Anderson, my jo. 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize : 
And to the wealthy booby, 

Poor woman sacrifice ! 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate. 

Become a wretched wife. 
The ravenmg hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flica, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 427 

To shun impending ruin 

Awhile her pinions tries ; 
Till of escape despairing. 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet. 

MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION. 

Hie Chloris of thi.* song^ has inspired some of the Poet's sweeteel 
btrains. Slie la said to have died lately in great povcrtj'. 

Tune. — Deil tak the wars, 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 

Round the wealthy, titled bride : 
But wjien compar'd with real passion, 

Poor is all that princely pride. 

"What are the showy treasures 1 

What are the noisy pleasures'? 
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art ; 

The polish'd jewel's blaze 

INIay draw the wond'ring gaze, 

And courtly grandeur bright 

The fancy may delight. 
But never, never can come near the heart. 

But did you see my dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity's array, 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, 

Slirinking from the gaze of day ; 

O then, the heart alarming. 

And all resistless charming, [so'il ! 

In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willinj^^; 

Ambition would disown 

The world's imperial crown, 

Ev'n Avarice would deny 

His worshipp'd deity. 
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. 



128 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR. 

1 have wpittRii this song,* says Burns in one of his letters, ' in 
the course of an hour ; so much for the speed of my Tega^ui, 
but what say you to his bottom ." 

Tuue. — Let me in this ae night* 

FonLuuN, my love, no comfort near. 
Far, far from thee, I wander here : 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 



wcrt thou, love, but near me. 
But near, near, near me : 
Hoiv kindlii thou ivouUst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, Lve, 

Around me scowls a wintry sk}'. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy , 
And shelter, shade, nor home, have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart. 

And say that fate is m.ine, love. 

O wert, &c. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet '. 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love 
O wert, &c. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 429 

WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 

A FRAGMENT. 
Tune.— 7'Ae Caledonian Hunfs Delight, 

Why, why tell thy lover, 

Blisc he never must enjoy ? 
Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie ? 
why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers, 

Chloris, Chloris all the theme ; 
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, 

Wake thy lover from his dream J 

HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR. 

this songr was written for Mr. Thomson's Collection. Tlie tliree 
first verses were sent in a letter to tliat gentleman, a few Uavs 
before the Poet's death, whicli took i;I;ice on the iiist July, 1790; 
tlie fourth verse was afterwards found anion;? liis muniiscrVfits : so 
tiiat this beautiful son^-, written under much diitret^s of body, 
and trouble of mind, was, in all probability, the last llnished oJt- 
spriu;; of his muse. 

Tune. — Here's a health to them that's atta, hlney. 

ciionus. 
Here 's a health to ane I lo^e dear. 
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 
And soft as the parting tear — Jessy ! 

Ai-Tiio' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied : 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 
Here 's a health, &c. 

1 mourn thro* the gay, gaudy day. 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome the dream o' eweet slumber, 
For then I am lock'd in thy arms — Jessy 
Here's a health, &c. 



430 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling ee ; 

But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy ! 
Here 's a health &:c. 



FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. 

ThU song was written at Brow, on the Solway Firth, a few dayt 
before the Poet's deatli. 

Tu nc.—Roth erm ti rch ie^s Rant. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 

Crystal Devon, xthiding Devon, 
Wilt tlum lay that frown aside, 
And smile as thou ivert wont to do? 
Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
Could'st thou to malice lend an ear ] 
Q, did not Love exclaim, * Forbear, 
' Nor use a faithful lover so V 
Fairest maid, &c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ! 
And by thy beauteous self I swear. 

No love but thine my heart shall know .' 
Fairest maid, (Sec. 



STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME. 

' The peculiar rhvlhni of this fine Gaelic air, an^l the consequent 
ilirticulty of niakiiijf verses to suit ht, must excuse the shortness 
of this sons.* — AJonuoii. 

Tune.— //« Gille dnbh ciar dhnlili. 

Stay, my charmer, can you you leave me ] 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me 

Well you know how much you grieve me ; 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 431 

By my love so ill requited; 
By die faith you fondly plighted ; 
liy the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so .' 

Do not, do not leave n^e so ! 

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 

Written in compliment to Miss Hamilton, the sister of the PoetU 
early friend and putroii, G. Mamition, Esq. 

Tune. — Druimion ditbh. 

Musing on the roaring ocean, 
Which divides my love and me, 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal, where'er he be. 

Hope and fear s alternate billow 

Yielding late to nature's law ; ■* 

Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that 's far awa ! 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me : 
Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 

Spirits kind, again attend me, 
'Talk of him that 's far awa ! 

THE LAZY MIST, &c. 

This is an icarly production. It was ori2:inalI.y written for the 

Museum, but since considci'aLily altered. 

Irish s.\r.—Coolun. 

The lazy mist nangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealmg the course of the dark winding rill ; 
How Janguid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, 
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown. 
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 



432 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 

How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues! 

How long 1 have liv'd — but how much liv'd in 

vain! 
How little of life's scanty span may remain ! 
What aspects, old Time in his progress has worn I 
What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn ! 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! 
Anddov/nward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how 

pain'd ! 
This life 's not worth having with all it can give. 
For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 

JMY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

Tills clever, sensible song is also an early production, and wat 
likewise written for the Museum. 

O pieikle" thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie,* 

My tocher 's" the jewel has cliarms for him. 
It 's a' for the apple he '11 nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hineyV he'll cherish the bee; 
My laddie 's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He can na hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve 's an airl-penny,* 

My tocher 's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin*,* 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye 're like to the timnier** o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree. 
Ye 'U slip frae me like a knotless thread. 

Ye '11 crack your credit wi* mae*' nor me. 

fi Much. to Know very well., x Money. y Honejr* 
X Earnest-mouey. a Cunning. b Timber. c Mofe. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 43S 



THE POSIE. 

Tb* »lr of this sonij was taken down from the singing of Mrs. 
Burns. The followinj^ is the first verse of the old song to the 



• There was a pretty May, an-I a milking s'le went, 
Wi' her red rosie clieeks, aa' her coal black hair.' 

O LuvE will venture in where it daur na weel** be 
seen, [been ; 

luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has 
But I will down yon river rove, among the wood 

sae green, 
And a' to pu'*^ a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose 1 will pu', the firstlin' o' the year. 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear. 
For she 's the pink o' womankind, and blooms 
without a peer ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

1 '11 pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in 

view, [mou ; 

For it 's like a baumy kiss o' her bonnie sweet 

The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its unchanging 

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. [blue, 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
In her lovely bosom 111 place the lily there ; 
The daisy 's for simplicity and unaffected air. 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
"Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day. 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna 
tak away ; 
And a* to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening sta» ia 

near, [clear; 

And the diamond-draps o' devjr shall be her een sae 

d Dare not well. t Poll. 

u 



iM SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to 
And a' to be a posie to my aio dear May. [we<u-. 

I *11 tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, 

And 1 'ii place it in her breast, and I 'II swear by 

a' above, [ne'e.- remuve, 

That to my latest draught o' life tiie band shall 

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 

GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

The old air, ' Wat ye how the play began,' to which this song was 
written, is lively— the words plaintive. JJiirns frequently united 
music and poetry toj^etker, without consiaerinj much the natural 
dispositions of the parties. 

Ance mair*" I hail thee, thou gloomy December! 

Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting tliou makes me remember. 

Parting wi' JNancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure ; 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
But the dire feeUng, farewell for ever. 

Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest. 

Till the last leaf of the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom. 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember^ 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair ! 

BONNIE BELL. 

In the ' Edinburg:h Miscellany,' 1809, a copy of this songis printed 
with two addiiional verses ; but they do not appear to be ()m 
work of Burns. 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing. 

And surly Winter grimly flies : • 

/ Once more. 



SONGS AND BALLADS 433 

Novr crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning. 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell, 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell- 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes tell. 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bouaie Bell. 

THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

Id some of the earlier editions of tliis snug, • sailor' is substitute 

for ' weaver.' 

Tune.— r/if auld wife ayont Ihe/tne. 

Where Cart? rins rowin''* to the sea, 
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree. 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
lie is a gallant weaver. 

Oh I had wooers aught' or nine, 
I'hey gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,'' 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

l\Iy (laddie siga'd my tocher-band,' 
To gie the lad that has t!ie land, 
But to my heart 1 '11 add my hand. 
And gie it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
While bees rejoice in opening flowers ; 
While corn grows green in simmer showers, 
I '11 love my gallant weaver. 

jr The name of 1 rivfr. A Runs rolling. t Ejght. 

4 Would be l.i-si. { Marriage-bond. 



4dS SONGS AND BALLADS. 

A RED, RED ROSE. 

The air and the first verse of this song are taken froir di) oU 
Ayrshire ballad. 

O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose, 

That 's newly sprung in June : 
O, my luve 's like the melodie 

That 's sweetly play'd in tune. 
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang"" dry. 
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
I will luve thee still, my dear. 

While the sands of life shall run. 
And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, 

Between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl of Mar 

fought Nov. 13, 1715. 

Tune. — The Cameronian Rant. 

* O CAM ye here the fight to shun. 

Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
Or were you at the Sherra-muir, 

A. id did the battle see, man V 
1 s.^w the battle, sair" and tough. 
And reekin'-red ran mony a sheugh,® 
My heart, for fear, gae soughP for sough. 
To hear the thuds,i and see the cluds,' 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,* 

Wha glaum'd' at kingdoms three, maa 

m Go. n Sore. • Ditch. p Sigh. 

<r A loud intennlttiiiir noise. r C'Jnjid*. * 

I In clothing made of the tartan check. t Aiaitd at. 



SONGS ANT) BALLADS. 437 

The red-coat lads wi' black cockades 
To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd. 

And mony a bouk" did fa', man : 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : [clash'd, 

They hack'd and hash'd, while broad sword« 
A.nd thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 
Till fey"' men died awa, man. 

But had you seen the philibegs," 

And skyrin' tartan trews, V man. 
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs. 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large. 
When bayonets oppos'd the targe,* 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos,* man. 

* O how deil Tam can that be true 1 
The chase gaed frae the north, man : 

I saw myself, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 

And at Dumblane, in my ain sight, 

They took the brig'' wi' a' their might, 

And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight ; 

33ut, cursed lot ! the gates were shut. 

And mony a huntit, poor red-coat, 
For fear amaist did swarf,*= man.' 

My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unvo me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man ; 

H Vomitina:. w Foe. 

X A short petticoat worn by the Hiprhlander* 

y Sbininif chequered trowsers. z Target. a Dovee. 

b BriUgre. c Swoo::. 



438 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Their left-hand general had nae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebors' blood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose ;** all crying woes, 
4nd so it goes, you see, man. 

They 've lost some gallant gentlemen, 
Amang the Highland clans, man ; 

I fear my lord Panmure is slain. 
Or fallen in whiggish hands, man : 

Now wad ye sing this double fight. 

Some fell for wrang and some for right ; 

But mony bade the world guid-night ; 

Then ye may tell, how pell and mell. 

By red claymores,^ and muskets' knell, 

Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, 
And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 

O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST, 

This son^ was fourd among' the mannscrif>ts of Bvirns, 
after his death, entilled • An Address to a Lady.' 

Tune.— The lass of Livingstone. 

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie*' to the angry airt,s 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield** should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare. 

The desert were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 



* Cwps 
f Tne 



quarter from which the wind or weather 
A Shelter. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 439 

Oi were 1 monarch o' the globe, 
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign ; 

The brightest jewel in my crown, 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 

O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME. 

Thia songp was also found amongf the maniiscripts of the Poet, 
after his death. He was very fond of the air (.Morag), ano 
wrote other songs to it. 

Tune. — Morag. 

O wiiA is she that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a keeping! 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

that 's the lassie o' my heart, 

Mq lassie ever dearer ; 
that 's the queen o' icoman-kindf 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

[f thou shalt meet a lassie 
In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming. 
Had ne'er sic' powers alarming; 
O that's, &c. 

If thou hadst heard her talking. 
And thy attentions plighted. 

That ilka"* body talking 

But her by thee is slighted ; 
And thou art all delighted ; 
O that's, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 
When frae her thou liast parted, 

« »uch. k Every. 



440 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

If every other fair one 

But her thou hast deserted. 
And thou art broken-hearted j 
O that 's, &c, 

ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 

First published in the Reliques. 
(A parody on Robin Adair.) 

You 'rk welcome to Despots, Dumourier ; 

You 're welcome to Despots, Dumourier. — 

How does Dampiere do 1 

Aye, and Bournonville too ? 

Why did they not come along with you, Dumourierl 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier, — 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier : — 

I will fight France with you, 

I will take my chance with you ; 

By my soul I '11 dance a dance with you, Dumourier. 

Then let us figlit about, Dumourier ; 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about, 

Till freedom's spark is out. 

Then we'll be d-mn'd no doubt — Dumourier. 

O ONCE I LOV'D A BONNIE LASS. 

This was our Poet's first attempt. 
Tune. — I am a jnan unmarried, 

O ONCE I loved a bonnie lass. 

Ay, and I love her still. 
And whilst that honour warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal la I de ral, 8fc, 
As bonnie lasses I nae seen, 

And mony' full as braw,™ 
But for a modest gracefu' mien. 

The like I never saw. 

I Mftny. m FlMb 



SONGS AND BALLADS, 441 

A bonnie lass, I will confess. 

Is pleasant to the ee, 
But without some better qualities 

She 's no a lass for me. 
But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet« 

And what is best of a'. 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 
She dresses ay sae clean and neat. 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars" ony dress look weel. 
A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart, 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart : 
'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants mj?^ soul; 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control 

Fal lal de ral, ^c. 

I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS 
WERE SPRINGING. 

'These two stanzas I composed when I was seventeen.* and are 
among the oldest of my printed pieces.'— i>i(r7ii' lleliques. 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing. 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing. 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 

O'er the swelling, drumlie" wave. 

n Makes. 

* It is perhaps worthy of remark, that in this son^ of sevtn- 

teei', there is strictly speaking; only one Scotch' word— the word 

drumlir—3. circumstance that promised Lttle for cur aiitlior*t 

'ulure eminence as a Scottish Poet. 

Muddy. 

U2 



442 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Such was my life 's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd ; 
But lang or noon,!' loud tempest storming, 

A' my flow'ry bliss destroy 'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 

(She promis'd fair, and perform 'd but illj) 
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

riiis air isclainieil by Neil Gow, v/ho calls it liis bment for htt 
brother. The fir<t lialf-staiaa of the song is old. 

There 's a youth in this city, it were a great pity. 

That he from our lasses should wander awa : 
For he's bonnie and braw, weel-favour'd with, a', 

And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 

His fecketi is white as the new-driven snaw ; 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon"" like the slae, 

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a*. 
His coat is the hue, &c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin'; 
VVeel featur'd, weel tocher'd, weel mounted and 
braw ; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her ;' 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. — 
There's Meg wi' the mailen,' that fain wad a haen 
him,« 
And Susy, whase daddy was Laird o' the ha* ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy** maist fetters his 
fancy, 
— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a* 



p Long: before noon. <? An iinder waistcoat with sleeve*. 

r Shoes. s Causes iiim to go to her. / Farm. 

lb WouU have had bini. ic Nancy with a great marriage portion. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 443 

MY HEAllT'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

The first ha)f-stanza of this song u old. 

JMy heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart 's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart 's in tlie Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; 
Wherever 1 wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever 1 love. 
Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here. 
My heart 's in the Highlands a chasing the deer: 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 

This son^, says Burns, was composed on a passion which a Mr. 
Gillespie, a particuKir frienil of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, 
afterward a Mrs. VVholpdale. The yoims lady was born at 
Craiific-biirn wood. — Tlie chorus is part of an old foolish ballad. 
— Anotiier copy of tliis will be found, ante, p. 366. 

Beyo)id thee, dearie, beifond thee, dearie, 

And to be lying benofid thee, 
sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep, 

That^s laid in tlie bed beyond thee. 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood. 
And blythely awakens the morrow ; 

But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn 
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. [wood, 
Beyond thee, &c. 

t see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 



444 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
W hile care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I canna tell, I maunna tell, 

I dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart 

If I conceal it langer. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tali, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie, 
But oh, what will my torments be. 

If thou refuse thy Johnie! 
Beyond thee, &c. 

To see thee in anither's arms. 

In love to lie and languish, 
'Twad be my dead, that will be &een. 

My heart wad buist wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 
Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; 

An' a' my days o' life to come 
I '11 gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. 

This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private 
secretary to Mary and Anne, queens of Scotland. 

I DO confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs" in luve ; 

Had I nay found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak, thy heart could rauve* 

I do confess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets. 

Thy favours are the silly wind 
I'hat kisses ilka^ thing it meets. 
X Ears. y Not. z Every. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 445 

See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew. 

Amang its native briers sae coy, 
How sune it tines^' its scent and hue 

When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 
Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, 

Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while ; 
Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside, 

Like ony common weed and vile. 

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Written for the Caledonian Musical Repository, a collection of 
Scottish son?s and airs, publislied at Edinburgh in 1789 ; and set 
to the old tune of Falkland Fair. 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide. 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the 
heather to feed, [reed. 

And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his 

Where the grouse, &c. 
Not Cowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores. 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd, clear stream. 
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its aia green, naiTOw 

strath ; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove. 
While o'er us, unheeded, flie the swift hours 0' love. 
She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; 
O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be, 
But 1 lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 
To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ; 
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts. 
They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts. 

a Soon it loses. 



446 SONGS AND BALL.\DS. 

But kindness, sweet krndness, in the fond sparkling 
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; [ee, 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her 

arms, 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms ! 

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

This song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification, 
but as the sentiments are the g-enuine feelings of my heart, for 
that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over.— 
Burits^ Jteligues, p, 329. 

T\ine.—The Weaver and his ShiUlle, O. 
MY Father was a farmer upon tlie Carrick border, O 
And carefully he bred n;e in decency and order ; O 
He bade me act a manly part, ihousjh I had ne'er a farthing, O 
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regard- 
ing, O, 

Then out into tlie world my course I did determine, O 
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming^ ; O 
My talents they were not the worst ; nor yet my education : C 
Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mead my situation, O. 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour; O 
Some cause unseen, still stept between, to frustrate each endea 
vour ; O [saken ; O 

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by friends for 
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O 

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion, O 
1 dropt niy schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this couclu 

sion ; O 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill untried ; O 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person to befriend me ; O 
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early ; O 
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for fortune fairly, O 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I 'm doom'd to 

wander, O 
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber; O 
No view nor care, but shun wliate'er might breed me pain or 

sorrow; O 
1 live to-day, as well's 1 may, regardless of to-morrow, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well, as a monarch in a palace, O 
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with aU her wonted 

malice; O 
I make indeed my dally bread, but ne'er can make it farthgr ; O 
But as daily bread is all 1 need, 1 do not much regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O 
Some unforeseen misfortune conies generally upon me ; O 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly ; O 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 



SONGS AND BALLADS 417 

All you who follow wealth and power with unremittini;: ardo ir. O 
Ihe more in this yon look for bliss, you leave your view the far- 
ther ; O 
Had you the wealth Potosi boast-s, or nations to adore you, O 
A cheerful honest-hearted clown 1 will prefer before you, O. 

I'LL KISS THEE YET. 

'The name of Peggy Allison gives an air of truth and reality to 
ihis little warm affectionate soug.'—See Scoltisli Soiiss. Our 
Poet was sometimes not very happy in namins: his heroines : 
the names of Cliloris, Phillis, &c., look strangely in a Scottish 
•ong. 

Tune. — Braes o' Balquhidder 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

An' 1 'II kiss thee o'er again. 

An' I 'II kiss thee yet, yft. 
My honnie Peggy Allison ! 

IhvP care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O ; 
Young kings upon their hansel<= throne 

Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 
I 'II kiss thee, &c. 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share. 
Than sic** a moment's pleasure, O ! 
I '11 kiss thee, &c. 

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 
I swear I 'm thine for ever, O ; — ■ 

And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
And break it shall I never, O ! 
I 'U kiss thee, &c. 

ON CESSNOCK BANKS THERE LIVES A LASa 

Recovered from the recitation of a lady in Glasgow, and first 
published by Cromek. 

Tune.— If he be a Butcher neat and trim. 

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass — 
Could I describe her shape and mien ; 

B Each. c When tliey first mount the throne. d Such. 



448 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The graces of her weel-far'd face, 
And the glancin' of her sparklin' een. 

She 's fresher than the morning dawn 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

She 's stately like yon youthful ash, 
That grows the cowslip braes between, 

And shoots its head above each bush ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

She 's spotless as the flow'ring thorn 

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green. 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 
An* she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her looks are like the sportive lamb. 
When flow'ry May adorns the scene, 

That wantons round its bleating dam ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That shades the mountain-side at e'en, 

When flow'r-reviving rains are past ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her forehead 's like the show'ry bow, 
When shining sunbeams intervene 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings in Cessnock banks unseen. 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 

i hey tempt the taste and charm the sight 
An' she's twa tjlnncin' sparklin' een. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 449 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep. 
With fleeces newly washen clean. 

That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs tlie blossom'd bean. 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

But it 's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching Beauty's fabled Queen, 

But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace. 
An' chiefly in her sparklin' een. 

WAE IS MY HEART. 

First published in the Reiiques. 

Wae^ is my heart, and the tear 's in m.y ee ; 
Lang, lang joy 's been a stranger to me : 
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear. 
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 

Love, thou hast pleasures ; and deep hae I loved ; 
Love, thou hast sorrows ; and sair hae I proved : 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

O if I were, where happy I hae been, 
Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle green ; 
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's ee. 

THE DEIL'S AWA AVI' THE EXCISEMAN. 

At a mcetinp'of his brotlier Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns being 
called upon for a sowr, handed these verses extempore to the 
President, written on tlie back of a letter. 

The Deil came fiddling thro' the town, 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; 

And ilka wife cry'd, ' Auld Mahoun.ff 
* We wish you luck o' the prize, man. 
e Woe. f Eye. g A name given to the DerU. 



450 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

* We *ll mak our maut, and brew our drinkf 
We 'It dance, and sing, and rejoice, man , 

And monie thanks to the mnckle black Deil, 
That danc'd awa ivi' the Exciseman. 

' There 's threesome reels, and foursome reels. 
There 's hornpipes and strathspeys, man j 

But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', 
Was — the Deil 's awa wi' the Exciseman. 
' We '11 mak our maut,' &c. 

I REDh YOU BEWARE AT THE HUNTING. 

First published in the Reliqiies, from a manuscript in the posses- 
sion of the Poet's intimate friend, Mr. Cunningham. 

The heather was blooming, the meadows were 

maun,' 
Our lads gaed'' a hunting, ae day at the dawn, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen, 
At length they discover'd a bonnie moor-hen. 

I red yon beware at the huniijig, yonng men ;, 
I red you beware at the hunting, young metii 
Tak some on the wing, and some as they springs 
But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hcn. 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather 
Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells ; [bells. 
Her plumage out-lustred the pride o' the spring. 
And O ! as she wantoned gay on the wing. 
I red, &CC. 

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he pcep'd o'er the hill. 
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill ; 
He levcU'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae — 
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where 
I red, &c. [she lay. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill ; 
The best of our lads wi' the best o' tlieir skill ; 

A Counsel, caution. Mown. k Went. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 451 

But still as the fairest she sat in their sight. 
Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. — 
1 red, &c. 



AMANG THE TREES WHERE HUMMING BEES. 

From the Poet's memorandum-book ; first published in the 
Reiiques. 

Tune. — The King of France, he rade a race. 

Amaxg the trees where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, O 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone. 

And to her pipe was singing ; O 
'Twas pibroch,' sang, strathspey, or reels. 

She dirl'd"' them aff, fu' cleaily, O 
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels," 

That dango her tapsalteerie.P O — 
Their capon craws^i and queer ha ha's, 

They made our lugs'" grow eerie," O 
The hungry bike* did scrape and pike 

Till we were wae and weary ; O — 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen years awa, 
He fir'd a fiddler in the North 

That dang them tapsalteerie, 0. 



ONE NIGHT AS I DID WANDER. 

A Fragment. 

from the Poet's Common-place Book, published by Croraek* 

Tune.— JoAn Anderson my jo. 

One night as I did wander, 
When corn begins to shoot, 

I sat me down to ponder, 
Upon an auld tree root : 

I A'Hi^hland war-song-, adapted to the bagpipe. 

m Struck slightly yet quick. « Screams. o Drors. 

p Topsy-turvy. 9 Hen- crowing. r Eara. 

c Friffhtened. t Bee-hive. 



452 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Auld Ayr ran by before me, 
And bicker'd to the seas ; 

A cushat" crooded o'er me, 
That echoed thro' the braes. 



THERE WAS A LAD WAS BORN AT KYLE. 

A Fragment. 

The following' is also an extract from the same .Common-plact 
Book of Observatio'is, Hiirts, Soiig-s, Scraps of Poetry, &c., by 
Robert' Biiriicss (for so Burns in early life spelt his name'), flrsl 
published by Cromek. 

Tune. — DaiiUie Davie, 

There was a lad was born at Kyle,* 
But what na day o' what na style — • 
I doubt it 's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
liobin was a rovhi' hoy, 

Rantiu' rovin\ rantin' rovin' ; 
Robin was a rovin* boy, 
Rantin^ rovin' Robin. 
Our monarch 's hindmost year but ane 
Was five-and-twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win' 

Blew hansel in on Robin. 
The gossip keekit" in his loof,? 
Quo' scho, ' Wha lives will see the proof. 
This waly^ boy will be nae coof,* 
I think we '11 ca' him Robin. 

* He '11 hae misfortunes great and sma'. 
But ay a heart aboon them a' j 

He '11 be a credit till'' us a'. 
We '11 a* be proud o' Robin. 

* But sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see by ilka*^ score and line, 

11 The dove, or wild pigeon. rv A district of Ayrshire 

X Peeped. y Palm of the hand. 

* Jolly. a Blockhead. b To. c Every. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 45J 

This chap will dearly like our kin',<* 
So leeze*' me on thee, Robin. 

' Guid faith,' quo' scho, * I doubt you. Sir, 
Ye gar the lasses * * * * 
But twenty fauts ye may hae vvaur*— - 
So blessin's on thee, ilobin !' 

Robin ivas a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovhi, raniin' rovin* i 

Robin tvas a rovin' boy, 
Ra7iti7i' rovin' Robin, 

WHEN FIRST I CAME TO STEWART KYLE. 

A Fragment. 

Tune. — / had a horse and I had nae mair 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady, 
Where er I gaed,? where'er I rade 

A mistress still I had ay : 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 

Not dreadin' ony body, 
My heart was caught before I thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady.'' 



MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY. 

A Fragment. 
Tane.—Galla Water. 

Altho* my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my pladdie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be 

Had 1 my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms. 

And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 

d Kind, sex. e A phrase of congratulatory endearowDt* 

/ Worse. g Went. 

h Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns. 



45.4 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 

I 'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.— 

Were I a baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'tvvad gie o' joy to me, 

The sharin' 't with Montgomerie's Peggy. — 



O RAGING FORTUNE'S WITHERING BLAST. 
A Fragment. 

O RAGING fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low ! O 
O raging fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low! O. 
My stem was fair, my bud was green. 

My blossom sweet did blow ; O 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow ; O. 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA. 

The first three verses of this excellent patriotic son? were first 
published in the Edinburgh Magazine for 1818, from a manu- 
script in the hand-writing of Burns. The remaining two verses 
appeared sometime after in the same Periodical, with a note by 
the Editor, proving their authenticity. The first complete copy 
of the song was printed in a little volume entitled, 'The Lyric 
Muse of Robert Burns,' published in 1819, by the late Jahn 
Smith, Bookseller, Montrose. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
And wha winna* wish guid luck to our cause. 

May never guid luck be their fa'!'' 
It 's guid to be merry and wise, 

It 's guid to be honest and true, 

i WiU not. A Pate, lot. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 455 

It *s guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here 's a health to Charlie, the chief o' t!ie clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 
May liberty meet wi' success! 

May prudence protect her frae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine' in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here 's a health to them tliat 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa; 
Here 's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie. 

That lives at the lug™ o' the law ! 
Here 's freedom to him that wad read, 

Here 's freedom to him that wad write ! [heard. 
There 's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here *s a health to them that 's awa, 

And here 's to them thaf's awa ; 
Here 's Maitland and Wycombe, and wha does na 

We'll build in a hole o' the wa'. [like 'em. 
Here 's timmer" that *s red at the heart. 

Here 's fruit that 's sound at the core ! 
May he that would turn the buff and blue coat. 

Be turn'd to the back o' the door. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; [gowd. 

Here 's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth 

Though bred amang mountains o' snaw! 
Here 's friends on baith sides o' the Forth, 

And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed, 
And wha would betray old Albion's rights. 

May they never eat of her bread. 

I Be lost. m Tlw ear ; i. e. close m, n Timber, wood* 



450 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 

This and the two following- Fr.iifments ane excellent; tJie secona 
•TheWiutcritis past, ^c' is parti-jiilarly so. It is conceivedjj 
the spirit, and exprassed in tlie manner, of the old ballad. 

As I was wand'ring ae morning in spring-, 
1 heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing, 
And as he was singing thir** words he did say — 
' There 's nae life like the Ploughman in the 
month o' sweet May. — 

* The lav'rock in the morning she '11 rise frae her 

nest, 
And mount to the air wi' the daw on her breast, 
And wi' the merry Ploughman she '11 whistle and 

sing, 
And at night she '11 return to her neist back again.' 

THE WINTER IT IS PAST, &c. 

A Frag:ment. 

The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last. 
And the small birds sing on every tree ; 

Now every tiling is glad, while I am very sad. 
Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier by the waters running 
clear. 

May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at 

But my true love is parted from me. [rest, 

DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

A Fragment. 

Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the hill, 
And glances o'er the brae. Sir, 

Slides by a bower where mony a flower. 
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 45? 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay : 
To love they thought nae crime. Sir j 

The wild-birds sang> the echoes rang. 
While Damon's heart beat time. Sir. 

POLLY STEWART. 

This happy little song was written for the Museum. It is an 
early production. 

Tune.— ye 're xeelcome, Charlie Stewart. 

CHORVS. 

lovely Polly Stewart, 

charming Polly Stewart, 

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, 

That's half so fair as tliou art. 

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's. 

And art can ne'er renew it ; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms. 

Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
O lovely^ 6lC. 

THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

A Frag-ment. 

There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie 

And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear ; [lass. 
Till wjo-'s loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, 

Wi' monie a sigh and tear. 
Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly 

He still was a stranger to fear : [roar. 

And nochtP could him quell, or his bosom, assail. 

But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 

p Nothing 
2L 



458 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



TIBBIE DUNBAR. 

The person who composed the air of this son^ was a Girvai 
fiddler, a Johnny M'Gill— he named it after himself. 

Tune.— JoAnny M'Gill. 

O -vviLT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar 1 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar 1 
Wilt 'thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, 
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 

1 carenai thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
I carena thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur,"" 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 



ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 

Flnt published in the Poetry, ' Orisjinal and Selected,' by BruL 
and Reid, of Glasgow. 

CHORUS. 
Robin share i)i hairst* 

I shure wi' him, 
Fient^ a heuk^ had 1, 

Yet I stachy by him. 

I gaed'^ up to Dunse, 

To warp a waby o' plaiden. 

At his daddie 's yett,'' 

Wha met me but Robin. 

Was na Robin bauld,* 

Though I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic'' a trick 

And me the eller's dochter "!<= 
Robin shure, &c. 

q Care not for. r Worse. s Did sliear, or rciip, in liar\e«t. 

< A petty oath of neg-ation. u Reapinor-liook. w Stuck 

Jt Went. V Web. : Gate. d Cold. h Such. 

c Elder's -iaiiirhtcr. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 45S 

Rohin promis'J me 

A' my winter vittle ;<* 
rient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin shure, &c. 

MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON T 

The original of this son^ will be found in Sibbald's 
Chronicle of Scottish Poetry. 

CHORUS. 

My lady^s gown there's gairs upon 't* 

And gowden flowers sae rare vpon 't ; 

But Jenny's jimps^ andjirkinet,S 

My lord thinks muckle mair^^ upon *t. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane. 

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane. 

By Colin's coftage lies his game. 

If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

My lady's gown, &c. 

My lady 's v/hite, my lady 's red, 
And kith' and kin o' Cassillis' blude, ^ 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher'' guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thvo' the heather pass^ 
There wons' auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 

INIy lady's gown, &c. 
Sae sweetly move her genty"* limbs. 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue. 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 

My lady's gown, &c. 

d Victuals. 

< Triangular pieces of cloth sewed on the bottom of it. 

ffasi Blays. g Short gown. h Much more. i Rindndt 

}t Marriage portion. I Dwells. m Elegantly formed. 



460 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

My lady '5 dink," my lady 's drest, 
The flowef and fancy o' the west; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
O that 's the lass to make him blest. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

WEE WILLIE GRAY. 

This and the following two verses are imitations of old song* 

Wee" Willie Gray, and his leather wallet; 
Peel a willow-wand to be him boots and jacket: 
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and 
doublet, [doublet. 

The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet; 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark and crava»? 
Feathers of a fleeP wad feather up his bonnet. 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 

O GUID ALE COMES. 

CHonus. 
O guid ale cotnes^ and guid ale goes, 
Giiid ale ganl me sell my hose. 
Sell my hose, and pawn viy shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

I HAD sax owsen*" in a plengh. 
They drew a' weel eneugh, 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Guid ale bauds" me bare and busy, 
Gars me mcop wi' the servant hizzie. 
Stand i' the stool' when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O guid ale comes, &c. 

n Neat, trim. Little. ^ ?'ly. 9 Make*, 

r Six oxen. $ Hokh. t Stool of repentanca. 



SONGS AND BALLADS, 461 

O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 

Written for the Museum. The chorus is partly old. 

lay thy loof^ iri mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass. 

And sioear in thy white hand, lass^ 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

A SLAVE to love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wroughi me meikle vvaej^'' 
But now he is my deadly fae, 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lay thy loof, &c. 

There 's mony a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink 1 hae lo'ed best ; 
But thou art queen within my breast. 
For ever to remain. 

O lay thy loof, &c. 

EXTEMPORE.* 

April, 1782. 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill foreboder 1 

1 'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 

1 '*il go and be a sodger. 

I gat some gear \vi' meikle care, 

I held it weel thegither ; 
But now it 's gane and something mair, 

I 'II go and be a sodger. 

O LEAVE NOVELS. 

Extracted from the Poet's memorandum book, when 
Mossg-iel. 

O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles. 
Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 

M Palm of the hand. to Much w 

* An early production. 



432 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Such witching books are baited hooks. 
For lakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
They make your youthful fancies reel, 

They heat your brains, and fire your veins. 
And then you 're prey for Rob Mossgiel 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung j 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part, 

'Tis rakish art in Rob IMossgiel. 
The frank address, the soft caress. 

Are worse than poison'd darts of steel. 
The frank address, and politesse, 

Are all finesse in Rob JMossgiel. 

O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. 

Jlie chorus and the two concluding lines of this son^ are from 
an old ballad of considerable length, wliich tradition has etUl 
preserved in Kincardineshire. 



ay my wife she dang me, 
An' aft my wife she hang'd me ; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
Guid faith she'll soon o'er gang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent, 
And fool I was I marry 'd ; 

But never honest man's intent. 
As cursedly miscarry 'd. 

Some sairie comfort still at last, 

When a' thir'' days are done, man. 
My pains o' hell on earth is past 

1 'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 

O ay my wife, &c. 

J:Th£8e. 



SONGS AND EALLADS. 453 

THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE 

There is still much of the spirit of the old indelicate songof the 
same name, in the following^ verses. 

The bairnsy gat out \vi' an unco'^ shout, 
The deuk's^ dangiJ o'er my daddie, O ! 

The fientc ma care, quo' the feirie'^ auld wife, 
He was but a paidlin'^ body, O ! 

He paidles out, and lie paidles in, 
^ An' he paidles late and early, O ; 

This seven lang- years I hae lien by his side. 
An' he is but a fusionless-*" carlie, O. 

baud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 
O baud your tongue now, Nansie, O : 

1 've seen the day, and sae iiae ye. 

Ye wadna been sae donsie,? O : 
I 've seen the day ye butter 'd rny brose, 

And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O ; 
But downa** do 's come o'er me now, 

And, oh, I find it sairly, O ! 

THE FIVE CARLINS.— AN ELECTION BALLAD, 

There is considerable humour in this ballad. It was written on a 
desperatclv contested election lor the Dumfries district of 
borouofhs, oetween Sir James Johnson of Wester-hall, aud 
Mr. Miller of Dalswinton. 

'Vxxne.—C/ievi'-chace. 

There were five Carlins' in the south, 

They fell upon a scheme. 
To send a lad to Lon'on town 

To bring us tidings hame. 

Not only bring us tidings hame. 

But do our errands there. 
And aiblins'' gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

} Children. 2 Great. a Duck. b Driven or pufched« 

c Fiend. _ d Stout, vigorous. 

* Isfirni, walking witli a feeble step. /Dry, sapless. 

g Uaiuckf. h Unable, cannot. t Stout old women.. 

k Perhaps. 



/ 



464 sonctS and ballads. 

There was Maggie by the banks o' Nith,^ 

A dame wi' pride enough ; 
And Marjorie o' the monie Loch," 

A Carlia auld an' teugh." 

And blinkin' Bess o' Annandale,** 

That dwells near Solway side, 
And whisky Jean that took her gillP 

In Galloway so wide. 
And auld black Joan frae Creighton peel,«« 

O' gipsy kith an' kin,*" 
Five weightier Carlins were na found 

The south kintra* within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town 

They met upon a day, 
And monie a Knight and monie a Laird, 

That errand fain would gae. 

O ! monie a Knight and monie a Laird, 

This errand fain would gae ; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

O ! ne'er a ane but twae. 

The first ane was a belted Knight, 

Bred o' a border band. 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town. 

Might nae man him withstand. 
And he wad do their errands weel. 

And meikle he wad say. 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 

Then neist came in a sodger j'outh. 

And spak wi' modest grace. 
An* he wad gae to Lon'on town. 

If dae their pleasure was. 

I Dumfries. m Lochrnaben. ii Tougfi. 

Aanaiu p Kirkcudbright. g Sanquhar. r Kir.dred. 

( Country. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 465 

He wad na hecht^ them courtly gift. 

• Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
But he wad hecht an honest heart — 
Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

Now whom to choose and whom refuse ; 

To strife thae Carl ins fell ; 
For some had gentle-folk to please, 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 

An' she spak ou^ wi' pride, 
An' she wad send the sodger youth 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guldman o' Lon'on court 

She did not care a pin, 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son. 

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale: 

A deadly aith she 's ta'en. 
The she wad vote the border Knight, 

Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far off fowls hae feathers fair, 

An' fools o' change are fain : 
But I hae tried the border Knight, 

I '11 try him yet again. 

Says auld black Joan frae Creighton peel 

A Carlin stout and grim. 
The auld guidraan or young guidman. 

For me may sink or swim ! 
For fools may prate o' right and wrang, 

While knaves laugh them to scorn : 
But the Sodger's friends hae blawn the best. 

Sae he shall bear the horn. 
Then whisky Jean spak o'er her drink — 

Ye weel ken kimmers" a' 

(Offer. n Gossips. 

X 2 



466 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The auld guldman o' Lon'on court. 
His back 's been at the wa' : 

And monie a friend that kiss'd his caup," 

Is now a frammit" wight ; 
But it 's ne'er sae wi' whisky Jean — 

We '11 send the border Knight. 
Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 

And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Her ancient weed was russet gray. 

Her auld Scots heart was true. 
There 's some great folks set light by me, 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town, 

Wha I lo'e best at hame. 
So how this weighty plea will end, 

Nae mortal wight can tell ; 
G-d grant the King and ilka man 

May look weel to himsel. 

O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED. 

Written for the Musical IMuscum— the chorus is old. 

O THAT I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had sic care — 
Now I've gotten wife an' bairns, 
An' they cry crowdie ever mair. 
Ance crowdie>, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 

Ye '11 crowdie a' my meal away. 
Waefu' want an' hunger fley* me, 
Glowrin'^ by the hallan** en' — 
Sair I fecht<= them at the door. 

But ay I 'm eerie** they come ben«. 
Ance crowdie, &c. 

w Wooden drinkiii^-vessel. x Strange, or estranged. 

y A dish made by pouring boiling water on oatmeal, am) 
•Urring it. z To make afraid. a Staring. 

b Partition wall. c To figlit. d Frighted. e Inwards. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 4(J7 

THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

A CANTATA. 
This spirited and humorous production was first introduced 
to tlie public by ^!r. T. Stewart of Greenocli. It appeared in a 
thin octavo, ])iihlished at Glasgow in 1801, under the title ol 
1 oenis ascnlii d to Robert llurnts the Avrsliire Bard.' Dr. 
Curne refused to admit it into Ids collection, because tlie Poet 
liad tres|iassed slightly upon tlie limits of Presbyterian pnritv, 
and spoken ratlier irreverently of courts and churches. 

IlECITATIVO. 

VViiEX lyart^ leaves bestrow the yird. 
Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,? 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; 
Wlien hail-stanes drive wi' bitter skyte," 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch' drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 
O' randie,'' gangrel' bodies, 
In Posie-Nansie's'" held the splore,^ 
To drinic their orra duddies :« 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and tliey sang ; 

Wi' jumping and thumping, 

The very girdleP rang. 

First, neisti the fire, in auld red rags, 

Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm. 

She blinket on her sodger ; 
An' ay lie gies the toozie'' drab 
The tither skelpin* kiss, 

/ Grey, or dead leaves. 

^ The razor-bill. hTo eject with g:real force. 

»_Hoar frost. h Turbulent. I Strolling. 

m The landlady of a whiskv-hoiise, in the outskirts of Mauch- 

Une, in which the begg:ars held their or^nes, and where the 

present group actually met. n A frolic. 

Superfluous raijs, or pence : or whatever they could tura 
iDto money. 

p A round plate of iron for toasting cakes over the fire. 
Next. r Swarthy. s Warm, eager. 



468 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

While she held up her greedy gab* 
Just like an aumos" dish. 

Ilk. smack still did crack still. 
Just like a cadgerV'' whip ; 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up : 

AIR. 
iune,— Soldier's Joy, 

I AM a son of Blars, 

Who have been in many wars. 

And shew my cuts and scars 

Wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, 
And that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French 

At the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

]\Iy 'prenticeship I past 

Where my leader breath'd his last. 

When the bloody die was cast 

On the heights of Abram ; 
I served out my trade 
When the gallant game was play'd. 
And the Moro low was laid 

At the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

I, lastly, was with Curtis, 
Among the floating batt'ries. 
And there I left for v/itness 

An arm and a limb ; 
Yet, let my country need me, 
With Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps 

At the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

t Month. u An alms-dish. jv A carrier 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 4G9 

And now, tho' I must beg. 
With a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a \dtt.er'd rag 

Hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet. 
My bottle and my callet,'' 
As when I used in scarlet 

To follow the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho', with hoary locks, 
I must stand the winter shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks 

Oftentimes for a home : 
When the tother bag I sell. 
And the tother bottle tell, • 

I could meet a troop of hell 

At the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebarsy shook 

Aboon" the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rations* backward look. 

And seek the benmost bore .•* 
A merry Andrew i' the nook. 

He skirl'd out, * Encore !' 
But up arose the martial chuck. 

And laid the loud uproar : 

AIR. 
Tunc— Soldier Laddie, 

I ONCE was a maid, tlio' I cannot tell when. 
And still my delight is in proper young men 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie. 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal.de ral, &c. 

jr A kind of cap. 
y Raften. 2 Above. a Uats. b The Innermost liole. 



470 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg v/as so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 
But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch. 
The sword 1 forsook for the sake of the church j 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the body, 
'Twas then I pov'd false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
Full soon I grew sick of the sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got; 
From the gilded spontoon to tlie nfe I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair. 
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoiced at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
And now I have liv'd, I know not how long, 
And still I can join in a cup and a song ; 
But whilst with both hands 1 can hold the glasa 

steady. 
Here 's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew, i' the neuk,<= 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ;** 
They mind't na wha the chorus took, 

Between themscls they were sae bizzy. 
At length wi' drink and courtmg dizzy. 

He stoiter'd* up and made a face ; 
Then turn'd and laid a smack on Grizzy, 

Syne^^tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. 

c A nook, or corner. d Tinker wench* 

• Staggered. / Then. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 4n 

AIK. 
Tune. — Auld Sir Symon. 

Sir Wisdom 's a fool when he 's fou,? 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 
He 's there but a 'prentice I trow, 

But I am a fool by profession. 

My grannie slie bought me a book, 

And I held awa to the school ; 
I fear I my talent mistook. 

But what will ye hae of a fool 1 

For drink I would venture my neck ; 

A hizzie's the half of my craft ; 
But what could ye other expect 

Of ane that 's avowedly daft !•* 

I ance was tied up like a stirk,' 
For civilly swearing and quaffing ; 

I ance was abus'd i' the kirk, 
For touzling a lass i' my daffin.'' 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 

Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 
There 's even, I 'm tauld, i' the court 

A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observ'd ye yon reverend lad 

Make faces to tickle the mob ; 
He rails at our mountebank squad. 

It 's rhalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion 1 '11 tell. 
For faith I 'm confoundedly dr}', 

The chield that 's a fool for himsel', 
Gude L — d, he 's far dafter' than I. 



g Drunk. A Crazy, or foolish. 

A youns bullock, or heifer. k J'astinie, gaiety 

i A grreater fool. 



472 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist™ outspak a raucle carlin,"' 
Wha kent* fu' v/eef to cleek? the sterlin' i 
For monie a pursie she had Lookitj 
And had in monie a well been doukit: 

Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie !i 
\Vi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman. 



Tune.— an ye iccre dead, Giideman, 

A Highland lad my love was born. 
The Lowland laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faith fu' to his clan. 
My gallant, braw"" John Highlandman ! 

ciionus. 
S'uig, heij, my braw John Highlandman, 
Sing, ho, my braw John Highlandman j 
There 's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandmtin. 

With his philibeg* an' tartan' plaid, 
An' guid claymore" down by his side, 
The ladies' liearts he did trepan, 
My gallant, braw John Highlandman ! 
Sing, hey. Sac. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; ^ 
For a Lowland face ha feaied none, 
My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

OT Next. M Rash, contemptuous term for a woman. 

" J'"*'*^ P To lay hold of as with a hook. 

q I he g:allow«. on which her husband had been hansfed. 
f Br»»e. . * A short petticoat worn by Hi)>niandmea, 

I Chequered cloak, or upper garnient. u A broad tw«rd. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 478 

They banish 'd him beyond the sea. 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my bravi' John Highlandman, 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now, a widow, I must mourn 
Departed joys that ne'er return; 
No comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha used at trysts'' and fairs to driddle.y 

Her strappin'* limb and gaucy* middle 

(He reach'd nae higher) 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward ee, 
He croou'd** his gamut, one, two, three 
Then, in an arioso key, 

The wee'Apollo 
Set off, wi' allegretto glee. 

His giga solo. 



Tune.— iVhislle owre the lave oV. 

Let me ryke^ up to dight^ that tear. 
An' go wi' me an' be my dear ; 

X Meetings appointed for dancing- and frolic. 

jf To move slowly. 2 Tall and handsome. 

a Large, jolly. 6 Hummed. 

* Ui« my power, or best endeavours. d Wipe, or cieaiii 



4T4 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

An' then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
An' «' the tunes that e'er I play'dj 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was ' Whidle owre the lave o't.' 

At klrns^ and weddings we'se be there. 
And O sae nicely 's we will fare ! 
We '11 bouse about till daddie Care 

Sings ' Whistle owre the lave o't.* 
I am, &c. 
Sae merrily 's the banes we '11 pyke/ 
And sun oursels about the dyke, 
And at our leisure, when ye like, . 

We '11 whistle owre tlie lave o't. 
I am, &c. 
But bless me wi' your heav'n o' chamM, 
And while I kittle hair on thairms,f 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 

May whictle owre tlie lave o't. 
I am, &:c. 

IIECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,** 

As weel as poor gut-scraper; 
Me taks the fiddler by the beard. 

And draws a rusty rapier : — 
He swore by a' was swearing worth. 

To spit him like a pliver,* 
Unless he would from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 
W-i' ghastly ee, poor tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers'' bended, 

e Harvest suppers. /The bones we'll pick* 

g Tickle hair on guts; i. e. Plav on the violin. h Tinker* 

i Spit him like a plover. 
h The ham«, or hinder part of the thighs. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 476 

And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face. 

And sae the quarrel ended. 
But though his Httle heart did grieve 

When round the tinker press 'd her, 
He feign'd to snirtle* in his sleeve. 

When thus the caird address'd her: 

AIR. 
Tune.— ClotU the Cauldron, 

My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travell'd n.iund all Christian ground, 

In this my occupation ; 
I 've taen the gold, I 've been enroU'd 

In many a nob'Ie squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go and clout"* the cauldron. 
I 've taen the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin', 
And take a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron : 
And by that stowp," my faith and houp, 

And by that dear Kilbagie," 
If e'er ye want or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie .'P 
And by that etowp, &c. 

RKCITATIVO. 

The caird prevail'd — th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,! 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That shew'd a man o' spunk, 

{To laugh wi To mend kettles or cauldrons. 

It A JuK. o Whisky, so called from a celebrated dUtillcnr 

•> Throat. q Sore. 



47« SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Wish'd unison between the pair, 
And made the bottle clunk."" 

To their health that night. 

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft. 

That play'd a dame a shavie,* 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft. 

Behind the chicken cavie.^ 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft," 

Though limping wi' the spavie,^* 
He hirpled'' up, and lap like daft,? 

And shor'd^ them Dainty Davie 

O' boof^ that night, 
He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Though Fortune sair upon him laid. 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had no wish — but to be glad. 

Nor want' — but when he thirsted ; 
He hated nought — ^but to be sad. 

And thus the Muse suggested 

His sang that night. 



Tune.— l^'or a' that, an* a' thaL, 

I AM a bard of no regard, 
Wi* gentle-folks, an' a' that: 

But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,'' 
Frae town to town I draw that. 



For a' that, an* a' that. 

And twice as muckle's a' that, 

I've lost butane, I've twa hehin\ 

I've wife enough for a' that. 

f To gurgle in the manner of a bottle when empijlnf 

* A trick. t A pen, or coop. 

u Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad-sintrer on record. 

w Spavjn. X Limped. y Leaped as if he was mad. 

« Offered. a To botit. b Staring crowd. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 477 

I never drank the IVIuses stank c 
Castalia's burn,** and a' that ; 
But there it reams,^ and richly streams. 
My Helicon 1 ca' that. 
For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, and a' that j 

But lordly will 1 hold it still 
A mortal sin to thravi'' that. 
For a' that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wi' mutual love, and a' that ; 
But for how lang tlie flie may staug,» 

Let inclination law^ that. 
For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,* 
They 've taen me in, and a' that ; 

But clear your decks, and — Here 's the sex f 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

And twice as muckie 's a' that, 
Mv dearest hlnde to do them glide. 

They 're welcome till 'i^ for a' t/iat, 

RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook with a thunder of applause 

Re-echo'd from each mouth : 
They toom'd their pocks,' they pawn'd their duds," 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds," 

To quench their lowan** drouth. 

e A gtandin? pool of water. d Rivulet. 

e Froths, or foams. /To contradict. j-Siing. 

h Rule, or govern. t Mad, vcxtd. « To it. 

I Emptied tlieir bag^s. vi Huars. n Cover their tails. 

o Ra^ia? tliirst. 



478 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then owre again the jovial thrang 

The poet did request, 
To lowse his pack, and wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best : 
He, rising, rejoicing 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, and found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR. 
Tune.— JoZ/w morlols,fM your glassfM. 

See the smoking bowl before us ! 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chorus. 

And in raptures let us sing : 



A Jig for those by [aw protected 
Libert II 's a glurious feast ! 

Courts for cowards were erected, 
Churches built to please the p>'iest. 

What is title? what is treasure? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

' lis no matter how or where. 
A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable, 
Round we wander all the day ; 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 
A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Through the country lighter revet 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fig, &c. 



SONGS AND BALLADS 479 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum 
Who have characters to lose. 
A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets * 
Here's' to all the wand'ring train ! 

Here's our ragged bratsP and callets !<» 
One and ail cry out, Amen ! 
A fig, &c. 

MY EART WAS ANCE. 

The poet in the IV. jsical Museum has added a note, that 'lh« 
chorus of this gong is oM, tlie rest of it is Diine.* 

Tune.— To the Weavers gin ye go. 

My heart was ance as blythe and free 

As sim.mer days were lang. 
But a bonnie, westlin'" weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids. 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede* you right gang ne'er at night. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither* sent me to the town, 

To warp a plaiden wab ;" 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab.* 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net. 

In every knot and thrum. 

pClothIn? in gfenei 
f A woman's cap made wlthoui a iMr' 
« To couDiei. I Mother. 



480 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

I sat beside my warpin-wheel, 

And ay I ca'd it roun' ; 
But every shot and every knock, 

My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west 

Wi' visage pale and wan, 
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Convoy 'd me thro' the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin 1 tell ; 
But oh ! I fear the kintra* soon 
Will kenV as weel's mysel. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids. 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at night, 
To the vveavers gin ye go. 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune.— f/p wi' the Ploughman. 

The ploughman he 's a bonnie lad. 

His mind is ever true, jo ; 
His garters knit below his knee. 
His bonnet it is blue, jo. 
Then up wi' my ploughman lad. 

And hey my merry ploughman ? 
Of a' the trades that 1 do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman^ 

INIy ploughman he comes hame at e'en. 
He's aften wat and weary ; 

Cast off the wat, put on the dry, 
And gae to bed, my dearie ! 

» Ceuntry. y know. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 481 

] will wash my ploughman's hose, 

And I will dress his o'erlay ; 
1 will male my ploughman's bed, 

And cheer him late and early. 

I hae been east, I hao been west, 

I hae been at Saint Johnston ; 
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 

Was the ploughman laddie dancin", 

Snaw-white stockins on his legs. 

And siller buckles glancin' ; 
A guid blue bonnet on his head — 

And oh, but he was handsome ! 

Commend me to the barn-yard, 

And the corn-mou, man ; 
I never gat my coggie fou. 

Till I met wi' the ploughman. 



THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

This song vtas sung by Burns in the Kilmarnock Kilwinning 
LoUge in 1786. 

Tune— Shawnboy. 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit in that honoured station. 
I've little to say, but only to pray, 

As praying's the ton of your fashion ; 
A prayer from the muse you v/ell may excuse, 

'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 
Who marked each element's border; 

a Young'i Night Thougbto. 



482 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Who formed this frame with beneficent aim. 

Whose sovereign statute is order; 
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention 

Or withered envy ne'er enter; 
May secresy round be the mystical bound. 

And brotherly love be the centre ! 



O, WKAR DID YE GET. 

Part of this song is old, but all that is natural and tender wa 
added by Burns. 

Tune— Bonnie Dundee. 

O, WHAR did ye get that hauver meal bannock t 

O silly blind body, O dinna ye see 1 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
O gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't ! 

Aft has he doudled me up on his knee ; 
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie. 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 

Thou's ay the dearer and dearer to me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks. 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine. 

And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

Taae— Maggy Lauder. 

I MAURiED with a scolding wife 
The fourteenth of November ; 

She made me weary of my life, 
By one unruly member. 



SONGS ANlJ BALLADS. 483 

Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years 

A man and wife together ; 
At length from me her course she steer'd. 

And gone I know not whither : 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter. 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her , 
But sure her soul is not in hell. 

The deil would ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft. 

And. imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks 1 hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 

COME DOWN THE BACK STAIRS. 

t«e air was composed by John Bruce, an excellent fiddler, who 
lived in DiinifrieB. The senlinient is Uken from an old son?, 
but every line is very much altered. It may becompa'ed wlUi 
tlie other version at pa^e 376. 

Tune— IVhistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad, 



O whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad; 
O whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad : 
Though father and mither 

Should baith gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll com© 

To you, my lad. 



484 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Come down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me ; 
Come down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me j 
Come down the back stairs, 

And let naebody see. 
And come as ye were na 

Coming: to me. 



DRAW LADS OF GALL A WATER. 

Perhaps the air of this sonj U tlie sweetest of all the Scotch ain. 
It '.vas cousidered so by Huydn. 

Tune— Ca«a Water. 
CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the waler. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie ; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou'. 
The mair 1 kiss she 's ay my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae. 
O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 

I'll kilt rny coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 
Down amang the broom, my dearie, 

The lassie lost a silken snood. 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the wat«i« 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 485 

MY HOGGIE. 

Tune — fVhat teill I do gin my Hoggie dit! 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die t 

My joy, my pride, my Hoggie ! 
My only beast, 1 had nae mae, 

And vow but I was vogie ! 
The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld. 

Me and my faith fu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa*. 

The blitter frae the boggie, 
The tod reply'd upon the hill, 

I trembled for my Hoggie. 
When day did daw, and cocks did craw. 

The morning it was foggie ; 
An' unco tyke lap o'er the dyke. 

And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 



HER DADDIE FORBAD. 

ime of these Tcfses are by Burns, and part from a hnmorooi 
old Ballad ' Jumpin' John o'the green.' 

Tune — Jumpin* John, 

Heu daddie** forbad, her minnie' forbad ; 

Forbidden she wadna** be : 
She wadna trow't, the browst she brew'd 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 

The lang lad they ca* Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie 



b Father. c Mother, 



486 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, 
And thretty gude shillin's and three ; 
A vera gude tocher,* a cotter-man's dochter. 
The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin* John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 



HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Tbig ia a cheerful air, and was formerly played as a single horn- 
pipe in the Scottish dancing schools; the words are alier«4 
from an old son^. 

Tune— TAc Dusty Miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller. 

And his dusty coat ; 

He will win a shilling. 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat. 

Dusty was the colour. 
Dusty was the kiss 

That I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller. 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller j 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 

«2>owry. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 487 



THERE WAS A LASS. 

The old Bong' of this name, sung' to the tune of * You'll ay ht 
welcome back a^ain,' is much inferior to the present in wit 
and delicacy. 

Tune — Duncan Davison, 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 
There was a lad that foUow'd her, 

They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The moor was driegh,*^ and Meg was skiegh,* 

Her favour Duncan could na win j 
For wi' the roke she wad him knock. 

And ay she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green, 
Upon the banks they eased their shanks,** 

And ay she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haly aith,' 

That Meg should be a bride the morn; 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith. 

And flung them a' out o'er the burn. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like king and queea, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk ; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass. 

And ay be welcome back again. 

'Oremr. fProod. hLege, iAbolyoOh* 



488 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY. 

Of this the poet say«, ' It is that liind of lip^ht-horse Mllop of an 
air which precludes sentiment. The ludicroHs is its ruling 
feature.' Another version will be found at pag-e 305. 

Tune — Duncan Gray, 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
VVae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play, 
Then I n)aun sit the lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 

And a' for the girdin o't. 

Bonnie was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Giowrin' a' the hills aboon — • 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
'i'he girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon ; 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin o't I 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't I 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith. 
The beast again can bear us baith. 
And auld Mess John will mend the skaith, 

And clout the bad girdm o't. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 489 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. 

The two firet verses are by Burns : the last is taken from an old 
song:. 

Tune— Net/ Tufti, Taili. 

Landlady, count the lawin,'' 
The day is near the dawin ;' 
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys, 
And I'm but jolly fou.™ 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now 1 

Cog an' ye were ay fou, 
Cog an' ye were ay fou, 
1 wad sit and sing to you 
If ye were ay fou. 

VVeel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the king, boys. 
And the companie ! 

Hey tutti, taiti, 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou nowl 



THE ELUDE RED ROSE AT YULE 
MAY BLAW. 

rhe sentiment is taken from a Jacobite son^ of the same nuD 
Tune — To daunton me. 

The blude" red rose at Yule may blaw," 
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,P 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
But an auld man shall never dauntoni me. 



k Reckoning. I Dawn. m Tipsy. n Blood. 

Blow. p Snow. q Fondle. 



490 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

To daunton me, and me so young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton roe. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut. 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes. 
His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

He hirples twa fauld as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab"" and his auld beld pow,» 
And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd ee — ■ 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 
To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. 

Some of these lines are old ; the second and most of the third 
stanza are original. 

Tune— OVr the Water to Charlie. 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

Come boat me o'er, lo Charlie ; 
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather ana go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

r speech. $ Dald head. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 491 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 

Tho' some there be abhor him : 
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame. 

And Charlie's faes before him! 
I swear and vow by moon and stars, 

And sun that shines so early. 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea. 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go. 
And live or die wi' Charlie I 



RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.* 

Tune— Rattlin', roaiin' fVillie. 

O rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

O, he held to the fair, 
An' for to sell his fiddle. 

An' buy some other ware; 
But parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blin't his ee ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

O sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

And .buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell my fiddle, 

The warl' would think I was mad j 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle and I hae had. 

• The hero of this son? was William Dunbar, Esq., writer to 
the Signet, Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan corps, a 
club of wits, who look that title at the time of raising: the Fencible 
regiments. Burns says, ' he was one of the worthiest fellow* In 
the world.' 



492 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

As I cam by Crochallan, 

I cannily keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en* ; 
Sitting at yon board en', 

And amang guid companie j 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 



THE TAILOR. 

The second and fourth ver=es are by Burns ; the rest is very old* 
The air is beautiful, and is played by the corporation of Tailon 
at their annual elections and processions. 

Tane— The Tailor fd'. thro' the bedf, thimbles an' o». 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a*, 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' ; 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were 

sma', 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'. 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still. 
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 

Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 
Gie me the groat again, canny young man j 
The day it is short, and the night it is lang. 
The dearest siller that ever 1 wan 1 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain 
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 493 

SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 

The fint verse is by Burns, the others are only revised by blm. 
Tune— Ay wauhin o'. 

Simmer's a pleasant time, 
Flovv'rs of ev'ry colour ; 
The water rins o'er the heugh," 
And I long for my true lover. 
Ay waukin^ O, 

Waukin still and wearie: 
Sleep I can get nane* 

For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream. 

When I wauk I'm eerie jJ 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleeping; 
I think on my bonnie lad 

And I bleer my een with greetin*. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

WHEN ROSY MAY. 

(n other days every trade and vocation had a tune to dance oi 
march to : the air of this son? is the march of tlie g:ardener8 ; 
the title only is old; the rest is the work of Burns. — Cun- 
ning/tarn. 

Tune — The Gardener leV hispaidle. 

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 

To deck her gay green-spreading bowers. 

Then busy, busy are his hours — 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle, 

« eras'. 10 Waking. xNone y Frightened. 



491 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The crystal waters gently fa* ; 
The merry birds are lovers a'; 
The scented breezes round him blavv— 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

When purple morning starts the hare 

To steal upon her early fare, 

Then thro' the dews he maun repair— 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 
When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws of nature's rest. 
He flies to her arms he lo'es best — 

The gard'ner v/i' his paidle. 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET. 

Tane^Lady DadiTiscoth^s Reel, 
The title and some lines are old ; the rest of the song is by Burnii 

My love she's lut a lassie yet ; 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa, 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O, 

1 rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her need na say she's woo'd. 

But he may say he's bought her, O ! 

Come, draw a drap o'the best o't yet. 

Come, Hraw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't, 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

An' could na preach for thinkin' o't. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 495 

JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

Tane— Jamie, come try me» 
CHORUS. 

Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 
If thou should ask my love, 

Could I deny thee ? 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee ? 
If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 
Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

Part of this sods >s old, and part of it by Barn^ 

Tune — mount and go. 

CHORUS. 

O mount and go, 

Mount andjnake you ready; 
O mount and'go. 

And be the Captain's Lady. 

When the drums do beat, 

And the cannons rattle, 
Thou shall sit in state, 

And see thy love in battle. 



496 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

When the vanquish'd foe. 

Sues for peace and quiet. 
To the shades we'll go, 
And in love enjoy it. 
O mount and go, 

Mount and make you ready j 
O mount and go, 

And be the Captain's Lady. 

OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED FRESH 
AND FAIR. 

The second and fourth stanzas are original ; the others onlj 
revised from a Jacobite song. 

Tune~A2va Whigs, awa, 
CHORUS. 

Awa Whigs, awa ! 

Awa W higs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae good at a'. 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair. 

And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 
But Whigs came like a frost in June, 

And wither'd a* our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust — 
Deil blin* them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriying ; 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse. 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap. 

But we may see him wauken ; 
Gude help the day when royal heads 

Are hunted like a maukin. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 49T 

Awa Whigs, awa ! 

Awa Whigs, awa! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 

MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A 
HrCKLE. 

Tune— Lord Breadalbane's March. 

O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle. 

And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle. 

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 

An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer. 

An' a' the lang night as happy 's a king. 
Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 

O' marrymg Bess, to gie her a slave : 
Bless'd be the hour she cool'd in her linnens. 

And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave. 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

An' come to my arms, and kiss me ao-ain I 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie°! 

And bless'd be the day I did it again. 

EPPIE ADAIR. 

Tune— iify Eppie. 

An* O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair '{ 
By love, and by beauty. 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair ! 



498 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair 1 

A' pleasure exile mCk 

Dishonour defile me. 

If e'er I beguile thee. 

My Eppie Adair ! 



WIIARE HAE YE BEEN. 

Allusion is made in this song to the battle of KilliecrankU, 
Tune— KiUiecrankie. 

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O ? 
O, whare hae ye been sae braw, ladl 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O 1 
An* ye had been whare I hae been. 

Ye wad na been so cantie, O ; 
An' ye had seen what I hae seen. 

On the braes of Killiecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea ; 

At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
But I met the devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr. 

An' Clavers got a clankie, Oj 
Or I had fed an Athole gled. 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND 
I LOVE. 

Mt—Carron Sidt. 

Frae the friends and land I love 
Driv'n by fortune's felly spite. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 499 

Frae my best beloved I rove. 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care : 
When remembrance wracks the mind. 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk appear. 

Desert ilka blooming shore, 
Till the fates, nae mair severe. 

Friendship, love and peace restore; 
Till Revenge, wi' laurell'd head. 

Bring our banish'd hame again; 
And ilk loyal bonnie lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER.* 

Tune— Cocft up your Beaver, 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town, 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 

Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver. 

And cock it fu' sprush, 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 



• On the accession of the house of Stejs'art, many sarcatdc 
tongrs were directed by the Enslisli against the Scots: the latter 
took it all in very good hiiiiiour as they were generally benefitted 
by the change, anu even now do not object to exchange the bon- 
net for a good beaver. The poet produced tl-e present from oiM 
of these. 



5(K SONGS AND BALLADS. 

There's somebody there 

We'll teach better behaviour- 

Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 
Cock up your beaver I 



now CAN I BE BLYTHE AND GLAD? 

This song is said to have been wiit»«a in allusion to the treatment 
of JeanArniour by herfather, wIimi he learned that she still kept 
up a correspondence with the pout. 

Tune — The bonnie Lad that's far awa. 

O now can I be blythe and glad. 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awal 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 

It's no the driving drift and snaw ; 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e. 
To think on him that's far awa. 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e, 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a*. 

But 1 hae ane will tak' my part, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

But I hae ane will tak' my part, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gae to me. 

And silken snoods he gae me twaj 

And 1 will wear them for his sake. 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
1'he boriuie lad that's far awa. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 601 



SENSIBILITY HOW CHARMING. 

The heroine of this sonj is said to be the fair Clarioda. 
Tune— Cornwallis^s Lament for Colonel Muirhead, 

Sensibility how charming, 

Dearest Nancy ! thou can'st tell. 
But distress with horrors arming, 

Thou hast also known too well. 
Fairest flower, behold the lily, 

Blooming in the sunny ray — 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 

See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the woodlark charm the forest. 

Telling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest 

To each pirate of the skies. 
Dearly bought the hidden treasure. 

Finer feelings can bestow : 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure. 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE. 

Tliesa verees were ori^inalW in English ; Burns has bestowed 
on them a Scottish dress. 

Tune— r^c Maid's Complaint. 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face. 

Nor shape, that I admire, 
Although thy beauty and thy grace 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee. 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 



602 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Nae mail- ungen'rous wish I hae. 

Nor stronger in my breast. 
Than if I canna mak thee sae. 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi" thee I'd wish to live, 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



SAW YE MY DEARIE. 

Altered from the old song of Eppie Macnab, which had more i 
than decency. 

Tune— Eppie Macnab. 

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
O savy ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
She 's down in the yard, she 's kissin' the laird. 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab. 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie BI'Nab ! 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot. 
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab» 



THE TITHER MORN. 

To a Highland Air. 

The tither morn. 
When I forlorn. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 60S 

Aneath aa aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow, 

I'd see my Jo, 
Beside me, gain the gloaming. 

But he sae trig, 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly did cheer me. 

When I, what reck. 

Did least expec'. 
To see my lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' fainness grat. 
While in his grips he press'd me. 

Deil tak'the war! 

I late and air, 
Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad. 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen. 
When a' were blythe and merry, 

I car'd na by, 

Sae sad was I 
la absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest. 

My mind's at rest* 
I'm happy wi' my Johnoy : 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se ay be there. 
And be as canty's oay. 



504 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

LOVELY DAVIES. 

Tune— Miss Muir. 

O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try 

The poet's occupation, 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, 

That whispers inspiration 1 
Even they maun dare an effort mair. 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 
Each eye it cheers, wlien she appears, 

Like Phoebus in the morning, 
When past the shower, and ev'ry flower 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore. 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun part 

Frae charming lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. 

That maks us mair than princes ; 
A scepter'd hand, a king's command, 

Is in her darting glances : 
The man in arms, 'gainst female charms. 

Even he her willing slave is; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 
My muse to dream of such a theme. 

Her feeble powers surrender ; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendour : 
I wad in vain essay the strain. 

The deed too daring brave is ; 
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 605 

THE WEARY FUND O' TOW. 

Tune— rAe weary pund o' low. 

The weary pund,? the weary pund. 

The weary pund o' tow ; 
I think my wife will end her life 

Before she spin her tow. 
I bought my wife a stane o' lint* 

As gude as e'er did grow ; 
And a' that she has made o' that, 

Is ae poor pund o' tow. 

There sat a bottle in a bole, 

Beyont the ingle low, 
And ay she took the tither souk* 

To drouk the stowrie tow.'' 

Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame, 

Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 
She took the rock, and wi' a knock 

She brak it o'er my pow. 

At last her feet — I sang to see't — 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; 
And or I wad anither jad, 
I'll wallop in a tow. 

The weary pund, the weary pund. 

The weary pund o' tow ! 
I think my wife will end her life 
Before she spin her tow. 

• Poa&d. X A Bton<>>rrelfht of flax. a Another driok 
6 To wa»h away the du«t of the tow. 



A06 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



. KENMURE'S ON AND AW A* 

Tune — O Kenniure^t on and awa, IVilliet 

O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie! 

O Kenmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie! 

O Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
And here's the flower that I love best— 

The rose that's like the snaw ! 



* There is some doubt as to the portions of this son? which 
bcloiii^ to Burns; it is prenumed that the second and third 
stanzas are only ori.^inal. It alludes to the part talcen by Viscount 
Kenniure in the rebellion of 1715. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 507 



MY COLLIER LADDIE. 

Tune— TAe Collier Laddie. 

Where live ye, my bonnie lass? 

An' tell me what they ca' ye ; 
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean 

And 1 follow the Collier Laddie. 
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 

And I follow the Collier Laddie. 

See you not yon hills and dales, 
The sun shines on sae brawlie ! 

They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. _ 

They a' are mine, and they shall be thinCj 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

Ye shall gang in gay attire, 

Weel buskit up sae gaudy; 
And ane to wait on every hand, 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
And ane to wait on every hand. 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

Tho* ye had a' the sun shines on. 
And the earth conceals sae lowly; 

I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I wad turn my back on you and it a'. 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I can win my five pennies in a day, 
And spen 't at night fu' brawlie ; 

And make my bed in the Collier's neuk. 
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 

And make my bed in the Collier's neuk. 
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 



608 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 

Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me ; 
And the world before me to win my bread, 

And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 
And the world before me to win my bread, 

And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 

NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

The MaxwellB, after the fall of the house of Douelas, were th« 
most powerful family in the south of Scotland; but the name 
is now no longer numbered with our nobility. 

The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coming o'er the border, 
And they'll gae bigg Terreagle's towers, 

An' set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terreagle's fair. 

For their abode they choose it ; 
There's no a heart in a' the land, 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

Tho' stars in skies may disappear. 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief, 

May hae a joyful morrow ; 
So dawning day has brought relief— 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 

AS I WAS A-WANDERING. 

This l8 an old Highland air, and the title means, <my love did 

deceive me.' There is uinch feeling^ expressed in this song. 

Tune— Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh, 

As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin*, 
The pipers and youngsters were making their 
game; 
Amang them I spied my faithless fa use lover. 
Which bled a* the wounds o' my dolour* again, 
c Grief. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 509 

Weel since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi* 
him ; 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
1 flatter my fancy 1 may get anither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 

I couldna get sleeping till da\vin«* for greetin',® 
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain : 

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, 
For, oh ! love forsaken 's a tormenting pain. 

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,. 

I dinna envy him the gains he can win; 
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow 

Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' 
him, 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
I flatter my fancy I may get anither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 

This song was founded upon some old verses. In which It wa« ioti- 
niated that the extinction of the house ot Stewart was sought 
for by otlier weapons tlian tlie sword. 

Tune — Ye Jacobites by Hame. 

Ye .Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 

Your fautes I will proclaim. 

Your doctrines I maun blame— 
You shall hear. 

What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by 
the law 1 
What is right and what is wrang by the law 1 

d Break of day. < Crylny. 



510 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

What is right and what is wrang 1 
A short sword and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afarf 

What makes heroic strife fam'd afar ? 

Wha makes heroic strife ? 

To whet th' assassin's knife. 

Or hunt a parent's life 

Wi' biuidie war. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the 
state ; 
Then let your schemes alone in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun, 

And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



LADY MARY ANN. 

Tune — Craigtown's growing, 

O, Lady Mary Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa', 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba'j 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a , 
My bonnie laddie's young 

But he 's growin' yet. 

O father! O father! 

An' ye think it fit. 
We'll send him a year 

To the college vet : 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

We'll sew a green ribbon 

Hound about his hat, 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet 

Lady Mary Ann 

VVas a flower i'the dew, 
Sweet was its smell, 

And bonnie was its hue I' 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young Charlie Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its make ; 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake. 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yeL ^ 

The simmer is gane 

When the leaves they were greeo^ 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen ; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my bonnie laddie f, young, 

But he 's growin' yet. 



612 SONGS AND i5\LLADS. 

THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES.» 

Tane—Kelli/burn Braes. 

There lived a carle oa Kellybuin braes 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

And he had a wife was the plague o' his days; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

He met wi' the devil ; says, ' How do yow fen V 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

'I've got a bad wife, sir ; that's a' my complaint 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime.' 

' It's neither your stot nor yourstaig I shall crave 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) 

But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have, 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime.' 

* O welcome, most kindly,' the blythe carle said 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie with thyme), 

' But if ye can match her ye're waur nor ye're ca'd. 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime.' 

The devil has got the auld wife on his back 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

♦ The ground-work of this piece 's old, but it underwent ma^iy 
alterations bv Burns-; the eleventh and twelfth verses are whollj 
his; and as for the other parts, Mrs. Burns told Mr. Cromek, 
' that he goe this ane a twrible brushing.' 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 513 

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) 
Syne bade her gae in, for a b — h and a w — e. 

And the thyme it is wilher'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro* them like ony wud bear 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

A reekit wee devil looks over the wa' 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

' O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a'. 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime.' 

The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie vpi' thyme). 

He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And to her auld husband he's carried her back; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

• I hae been a devil the feck o' my life 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 
But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prinie.' 

Z2 



614 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

LADY ONLIE. 

Tune— TAe Rujian's Rant . 

A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, 
They'll step in an' tak' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky .' 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews good ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her gude ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Bueky. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her gude ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

THE CARLES OF DYSART. 

It Is presumed that this song' is entirely original ; the air Is llvelj 
and old, and the verses have an air of anti'iulijr. 

Tune — Hey, ca^thro*. 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 

And the lads o' Buckhavea, 
And the kimmers o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 

Hey, ca' thro', ca thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro*, 
For we hae mickle ado. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 515 

We hae tales to tell, 

And we hae sangs to sing ; 
We hae pennies .to spend, 

And we hae pints to bring. 

We'll live a' our days, 

And them that come behin'. 
Let them do the like. 

And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 



HAD r THE WYTE. 

Tune— .//ad / thewyte she bade me* 

Had I the wyte, had 1 the wyte. 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side. 

And up the loan she shawed me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben. 

And bade me make nae clatter ; 
' For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman 

Is out and owre the water :' 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace 

When I did kiss and dawte her 
Let him be planted in my place. 

Syne say I was the fautor. 

• The air to which Burns composed this son^ was called, 'CoiM 
kiss wi' me, and cljrp wi' nie,' and some of the words may b0 
found in an old lyric, called, * Had I the wyte she bade me.' 



516 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Could I for shame, could 1 for shame. 

Could 1 for shame refused her ? 
And wadna manhood been to blame. 

Had I unkindly used herl , 
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame, 

And blue and bluidy bruised her; 
When sic a husband was frae hame. 

What wife but had excused her 1 

1 dighted ay her een sae blue. 

And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And weel 1 wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot it was 1 trow, 

1 lighted on the Monday ; 
But 1 cam through the 'J ysday's dew. 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



COxAllNG THROUGH THE RYE. 

lliii is altered from an old favourite song of the same nanM. 
Tune— Cowing' through the Rye, 

Coming through the rye, poor body. 

Coming through the rye, 
. She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 

Coming through the rye. 



Gin a body meet a body — 
Coming through the ryej 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need a body cry 1 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the glea. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 517 

Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need the world ken 1 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

CoD;iing through the rye. 

YOUNG JAMIE PRIDE OF A' THE 

PLAIN. 

Tune — The carlin o* the glen, 

YouNo Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove. 
And reign'd resistless king of love: 
But now wi' sighs and starting tears, 
He strays amang the woods and briers; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves 
His sad complaining dowie raves : 

I wha sae late did range and rove, 
And changed with every moon my love, 
I little thought the time was near. 
Repentance I should buy sae dear : 
The slighted maids my torment see, 
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
While she, my cruel, scornfu* fair. 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! 

THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

This Is tltered from an oM son?; the langimsre is rendered raor« 
delicate, and the sentiment icss warm, than in the original. 

Tune— JacJy Latin, 

Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething t 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 



518 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Bye attour, my gutcher has 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A* for bye, my bonnie sel'. 
The toss of Ecclefechan. 

baud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

baud your tongue and jauner; 

1 held the gate till you I met. 
Syne I began to wander : 

I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 

THE COOPER O' CUDDIE.* 

Tune— Baft at the bowster, ' 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa. 
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 
And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 

That anger'd the silly gude-man, 0. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door» 
Behind the door, behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 

And cover him under a mawn, O. 

Pie sought them out, he sought them in, 

Wi', deil hae her! and, deil hae him ! 

But the body was sae doited and blin'. 

He wist na where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morn, 
'Till our gude-man has gotten the scorn j 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn. 
And swears that they shall stan*, O, 



• The delicacy of this song: cannot be compared to Its wifc 
Burns was in all respects the poet of the people, and no mai* In 
wide Scotland had so many merry tales to tell, and so many joy- 
ous song-s to sine:. — Cunningham. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 519 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the doorj behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 
And cover him under a mawn, O. 



THE CAllDIN' O'T.* 

Tune — Salt-JUh and dumplings. 

I coFT a stane o' haslock woo'. 

To make a wat to Johnny o't j 
For Jolinny is my only jo, 
I lo*e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin o't, the spinnin* o*t, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't j 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynia o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray, 
And tho' his brow be held aboon 
Yet I hae seen him on a day. 
The pride of a* the parishen. 

The cardin o't, the spinnin' o*t. 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 



• The tenderness of Johnnie's wife can only be fuliy felt by 
Uior.e who know that hausp-lock wool is the softest and finest of 
the lleece, and is shorn from the throats of sheep in the summfT 
heat, to give them air and lieep them ccoL—CuMiingham. 



620 SONGS AIsD BALLADS. 

SAE FAR AW A.* 

Tune — Dalkeith Maiden Bridge, 

O, SAD and heavy should I part. 

But for her sake sae far awa; 
Unknowing what my way may thwart 

My native land sae far awa. 
Thou that of a' things IVIakei art, 

That form'd this fair sae far awa, 
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 

At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to pure desert, 

So love to her, sae far awa: 
And nocht can heal my bosom s smart 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but her's, sae far awa ; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than her's, the fair sae far awa. 

O MAY. THY MORN. 

Tune— Mat/, thy moiti. 
The lady here celebrated Is said to be the fair Clarinda. 

O INIav, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 

As the mirk night o* December; 
For sparkling was the rosy wine, 

And private was the chamber : 
And dear was she 1 dare na name. 

But I will ay remember. 
But dear was she I dare na name. 

But I will ay remember. 

• The youth of Scotland for many years have been mach influ- 
enced by the spirit of enterprise. With the exception of a few dis- 
tricts, in which manufactures have been introduced, the country 
is p^or, and affords little encouragement to the hardy race to 
whom its gives birth. — The present song Is a beautiful expression 
o( attachment to his fair one, 'xUo is ' far iwa.' 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 621 

And here's to them, that, like oursel. 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here's to them that wish us weel. 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them ! 
And here's to them, we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to them we dare na tell. 

The dearest o' the quorum ! 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE.* 

Tune — If thou^lt play me fair play. 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laJdie, Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie; 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie; 
And a* the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lowland lassie. 
Glory, hor-.our, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie. Lowland lassie. 
For freedom and my king to fight, 

Bonnie Lowland lassie. 

The sun a backward course shall take, 
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 

Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
Bonnie Highland laddie. 



• Burns compressed ' The Highland lad and Lowland lassie,* 
into these three stanzas. It lias allusion to Prince Charles, and to 
expressive of the affection and constancy of the people to him 
and his family. 



522 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Go, for yourself procure renown, 
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; 

And for your lawful king his crown, 
Bonnie Highland laddie. 



CASSILLIS' BANKS. 

The stream of Girvan and the banks of Cassillig were ever pre- 
sent to the feeling and fancy of Burns; he loved to returu to 
the scenes of his youth. 

Tune — Unknown, 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd*^ in green. 

An' catter'd cowslips sweetly spring; 
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's. 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance of love. 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 

The child wha boasts o' warld's walthff 

Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain — 

Ah ! fortune canna gie me mair. 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks, 

Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ' 

TO THEE, LOVED NITH. 

Tu DC— Unknown. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains. 
Where late wi' careless thought I ranged. 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe. 
To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 

/Clothed. B World's wealth. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 623 

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 

Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear j 
For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 

Yet to that heart, ah ! still how dear ! 

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 

The air to which these words were written gave the name to an 
old son?. 

Tune The Killogie, 

Bannocks o' bear meal, 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the Highlandraan's 

Bannocks o' barley. 
Wha in a brulzie 

Will first cry a parley 1 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 

Bannocks o' bear meal. 

Bannocks o' barley j 
Here's to the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 
^Yha in his wae-days 

Were loyal to Charlie'? 
Wha but the lads wi* 

'J" he bannocks o' barley. 

HEE BALOU. 

Tune— r/ie Highland Balott. 

Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o'the great Clanronald ; 

» The scntiraent is that of an old Highland nursery song; th* 
Higrhland chief and his clan were formerly little better than rob- 
bers; they taujht it to their children from iheir cradle, that 
mig-Jit was riffht, especially so far as the lowland cattle were 
concerned. The ori^n of this sonof is said to be, that a highland 
lady sung a son? in Gaelic, and explained it in English to the 
poet, when he quickly rendered it as it now appears. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 

Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie. 
An' thou live, thou'il steal a naigic: 
Travel the country thro' and thro'. 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 

Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 
Herry the louns o' the laigh countree. 
Syne to the Highlands hame to me. 



HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER! 

Tune — The Job of Journey-work. 

Altho' my back be at the wd.\ 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
Altho' my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 
O ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie he could flatter ; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair. 

And dree the kintra clatter. 
But tho' my back be at the wa*. 

And though he be the fautor; 
But tho' my back be at the wa'. 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY 
BONNIE LASS. 

This was a song of the Poet's youthful day*. 
Tyine.—Laggan Burn. 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae mair to tliy bower door. 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 525 

diuna think, my pretty pink, 
But I can live without thee: 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 

How lang ye look about ye. 
Thou'rt ay sae free informing me 

Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 
I'll be as free informing thee 

Nae time hae I to tarry. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means, 

Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But fortune may betray thee. 
I ken they scorn my low estate. 

But that does never grieve me ; 
But I'm as free as any he, 

Sma' siller will relieve me. 
I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae long as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want. 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far off fowls hae feathers fair, 

And ay until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care. 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright. 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel 

Nae travel makes him weary. 

THE FAREWELL. 

Tune—// was a' for our rightfu' king. 
There is some doubt as to the authorship of this son?— .Hoffff at- 
tributes it to Captain Ogilvie, who was killed in 1695; but thei* 
is reason to believe that it was an old song revived by BuriM 
for Johnson's Museum. 

It was a' for our rightfu' king. 
We left fair Scotland's strand ; 



520 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We e'er saw Irish land. 
My dear ; 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell. 

Fori maun cross the main. 
My dear ; 

For 1 maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right, and round about 

Upon the Irish shore ; 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake. 

With adieu for evermore. 
My dear ; 

With adieu for evermore. 

The sodger from the wars returns, 
The sailor frae the main ; 

But I hae parted frae my love, 
Never to meet again, 

My dear ; 
Never to meet again. 

When day is gane, and night is comft^ 
And a' folk bound to sleep ; 

I think on him that's far awa'. 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 

My dear ; 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 



O STEER HER UP. 

From an old song of the same name. 
Tune — steer he" up, and hatid her gaun, 

O STEER her up and baud her gaun — 
Her mother's at the mill, jo ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 527 

And gin she wlnna take a man. 

E'en let her take her will, jo : 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss. 

And ca' another gill, jo. 
And gin she take the thing amiss, 

E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 

O steer her up, and be na blate, 

An' gin she take it ill, jo. 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 

And time nae longer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 

But think upon it still, jo ; 
Then gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'll fin' anither will, jo. 



THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 

On theoccasionofaFete Cl:ampetre, given by Mr.C>innlngham«, 
ofEuterkin, on his coming lo his Estates — and from its no- 
velty it was supposed he had an intention of becoming a csndi 
date for tlie representation of liis county. 

Tune — Killiecranhic. 

O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man? 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O.' th' merry lads of Ayr, man 1 
Or will we send a man-o'-law 1 

Or will we send a sodger? 
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major] 

Come, will ye court a noble lord. 
Or buy a score o' lairds, man 1 

For worth and honour pawn their word. 
Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man 1 

Ane gies them coin, ane gies them winCt 
Anither gies them clatter j 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Anbank, wha guess'd the ladies* taste. 
He gies a Fete Champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news, 

The gay green-woods amang, man ; 
Where gathering flowers and busking bowerSj 

They heard the blackbird's sang, man 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss 

Sir Politicks to fetter, 
As their's alone, the patent-bliss, 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesomc wing. 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
Uk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring. 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man : 
She summon'd every social sprite, 

That sports by wood or water, 
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet, 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cadid Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, 

Were bound to stakes like kye, man ; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through the trees^ 

To view this Fele Champetre. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man ! 
To Harmony's enchanting notes. 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood. 

Like Paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett. 

To htld their Fdte Champetre. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 629 

When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane, man ! 
He circled round the magic ground. 

But entrance found he nane, man : 
He blush'd for shame, he quat his name. 

Forswore 't, every letter, 
Wi* humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Fete Champetre 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. 

This iB no exagsrerated picture of the desolation which \rm 
commanded and sanctioned by the Duke of Cumbeiland in 
putting down the rebellion in 1745. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Without a penny in my purse. 

To buy a meal to me. 

It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-ris ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score c' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Feeding on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 

And there I had three score o' yowet, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes. 

And casting woo' to me. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

Sair, sair may I repine ; 
For Donald was the brawest lad^ 

And Donald he was mine. 
2 A 



530 ^ SONGS AND BALLADS. 

rill Charlie Stewart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set us free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then. 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waefu' fate what need I tell. 
Eight to the wrang did yield : 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon Culloden's field. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 

Nae woman in the world wide 
Sae wretched now as me. 



PEG-A-RAMSEY. 

The old sen? of this name was a very famous amatory i 
Tune — Cauld is the e'ening blast, 

Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
O' Boreas o'er the pool, 

And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost. 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 

That drifted o'er the hill. 
But a bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey 
Gat grist to her mill. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 531 

THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

An unfinished sketch. 

There was a bonnie lass. 

And a bonnie, bonnie lass. 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear ; 

Till war's loud alarms, 

Tore her laddie frae her arms, 
\\ i' mony a sigh and tear. 

Over sea, over shore, 

Where the cannons loudly roar. 
He still was a stranger to fear: 

And nocht could him quell. 

Or his bosom assail. 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET, 

This stands the last of the communications to the Museum. It la 
said to have been produced on seeing a yonn;^ counlrvworaan 
with her shoes and stocking-s packed carefully up, and her pet- 
ticoats kilted, which shewed 

' Her straight bare le^s, that whiter were than snaw.' 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 
As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meetj 
But O the road was very hard 

For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
It were mair meet that those fine feet 

Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 
And 'twere more fit that she should sit 

Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 



6S2 BURNS' POEMS. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck, 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 

Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Maily's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way compJete. 



ADDITIONAL 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

THE FAREWELL. 

These beautiful and affecting stanzas were composed under great 
distress of mind, when liis prospects in life were so gloomy, 
that his only hope for success seemod to be directed to obtain- 
ing a situation in the West Indies. 

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess ! tho' thou'rt bereft 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother 1 have left, 
My part in him thou'lt share ! 
Adieu too, to you too. 

My Smith, my bosom frien'j 
When kindly you mind me, 
O then befriend my Jean ! 

What bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
From thee, my Jeany, must I part ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 
Thou weeping- answ'rest no ! 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face. 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I for thy sake must go ! 
Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu I 
I, with a much-indebted tear, 
Shall still remember you I 
All-hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore I 
It rustles, and whistles 
I'll never see thee more ! 



WILLIE CHALMERS.* 

Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride. 

And eke a braw new brechan, 
My Pegasus I'm got astride. 

And up Parnassus pechin ; 
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crushy 

The doited beastie stammers ; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets 

Tor sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame 

Nor his warm urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet. 

His honest heart enamours, 
And faith ye'U no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

• Mr. Lockhart has g-iven the following account of this singu- 
lar piece — he copied it from a small collection of MSS. sent by 
Burns to Lady ^^arriet Don, accompanied with the following ex- 
planation r—'^^W. Chalmers, a g:entleman in Ayrshire, a particular 
friend of mine, asked nie to write a poetical epistle to a younff 
lady, bis Dulcinea. 1 had seen her, but was scarcely acquaiuted 
With brr, and wrote as above.' 



634 BURNS' POEMS. 

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair. 

And Honour safely back her, 
And Modesty assume your air, 

And ne'er a ane mistak' her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring e'en 

Might fire even holy Palmers ; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na fortune may you shore 

Some mim-mou'd pouthered priestie, 
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 

And band upon his breastie : 
But Oh ! what signifies to you. 

His lexicons and grammars ; 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird. 

May warsle for your favour; 
May claw his lug, and straik his beard. 

And host up some palaver. 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers. 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard 
For ane that shares my bosom, 

Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues. 
For de'il a hair I roose him. 

May powers aboon unite you soon. 
And fructify your amours, — 

And every year come in niair dear 
To you and Willie Chalmers. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 535 

EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN.* 

Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlln' "Willie ! 
Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

We never heed. 
But take it like the unback'd filly, 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan whyles we saunter 
Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter 
Uphill, down brae, till some mishanter, 

Some black bog-hole. 
Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter 

We're forced to thole. 

Hale be your heart ! Hale be your fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
To cheer you through the weary widdle 

O' this wild warl'. 
Until you on a crummock driddle 

A gray-ha.r'd carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon 
Heaven send your heart-strings ay in tune.. 
And screw your temper pins aboon 

A fifth or mair. 
The melancholious, lazie croon 

O' cankrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 
Nae ' lente largo' in the play, 
But * allegretto forte' ga}^ 

Harmonious flow 
A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey — 

Encore ! Bravo ! 

* This ffentleman lived at Parkhoiise. near Avr, and was not 
onWa first-rate performer on the violin, but a iileasantman, anc 
not a little of a wit. The original of this piece is now in the pos- 
eession of David Auld, Esq. Ayr. 



636 BURNS' POEMS, 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule. 
But as the clegs o' feeling slang 

Are wise or fool. 

My hand-waled curse keep nard in chaae 
The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fire-side discords jar a base 

To a' their parts ! 

But come, your hand, my careless brilher, 
I'th* ither warl' if there's anither. 
An' that there is I've little swither 

About the matter ; 
We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted clearly. 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely. 
Eve's bonny squad priests wyte them sheerly 

For our grand fa' ; 
But still, but still, I like them dearly — 
God bless them a' ! 

Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers. 
When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers, 
The witching cursed delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hyte. 
And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, 

Wi' girnan spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high swearin'- 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 687 

An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! 

I'll ne'er forget ; 
I hope to gie the jads a clearin* 
In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted. 

Some cantraip hour. 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted. 

Then, vive V amour t 

Faites mes baissewains respectueuse, 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose you. 

Ye may be proud. 
That sic a couple fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

Nae mair at present can I measure. 

An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure ; 

But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, 

Be't light, be 't dark. 
Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure 

To call at Park. 

Robert Burns. 
Mossgiel, 30lh October, 1786. 



on the 
DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, Esq.* 

of arniston, 
late lord president of the court of session. 

Lone on the bl'eaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks, 

• Burns has given the following account of these beautiful line* 
—* The enclosed was written in consequence of your supgestioa 
iac( time I had the pleasure of seeinsr you. It cost me an hour o» 

2 A 2 



6S8 BURNS' POEMS. 

Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant, plains j 
Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves! 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye. 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 

A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 

Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd her rod ; 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow 

She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe. 

Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 
See from his cavern grim Oppression rise, 
And throv/ on poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly. 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 

INIark rufl^an Violence, distain'd with crimes, 
Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 

two of next morning's sleep, but did not please me, so it laid by, 
an ill-digested effort, till the other day 1 gave it a critic-brush. 
These kinds of subjects are much hackneyed, and, besides, the 
wailinM of the rhyming tribe over the ashes of the great are 
cursedly suspicious, and out of all character for sincerity. These 
ideas damped my muie's fire : however I have done the best I 
could.'— And in another letter to Dr. Geddes, he writes thus: 
'The foregoing poem has some tolerable lines in it, bat the in- 
curable wound of my pride will not suffer me to correct, or even 
peruse it. I sent a copy of it, with my best prose letter, to the 
son of the great man, the theme of the piece, by the hands of one 
of the noblest men in God's world, Alexander Wood, surgeon. 
When, behold ! his solicitorship took no more notice of my poem 
or me than I had been a strolling fiddler, who hud made free 
with his lady's name over a silly new reel! Did the gtntleman 
Imagine that I looked for any dirty gratuity ?' 



miscp:llaneous. c/.n.i 

View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 

As guileful Fraud points out the erring vva\ • 

While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 

The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong ; 

Hark, injured Want recounts th' unlisten'd tahs 

And rauch-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' unpitied wail 1 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
To you I sing my grief-inspired strains : 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign, 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my country must endure, 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 



WRITTEN IN 

FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, 

ON THE BANKS OF NITH. 

This Is from the ori.^nal rou?h draft of the poem, in the possession 
of Mrs. Hyslop. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed. 
Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
Grave these maxims on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Day, how rapid in its flight — 
Day, how few must see the night j 
Hope not sunshine every hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 
Happiness is but a name. 
Make content and ease thy aim. 
Ambition is a meteor gleam ; 
Fame a restless idle dream : 



540 BURNS' POEMS. 

Pleasures, insects on the wing 

Round Peace, the tenderest flower of Spring j 

Those that sip the dew alone. 

Make the butterflies thy own ; 

Those that would the bloom devour. 

Crush the locusts — save the flower. 

For the future be prepared, 

Guard wherever thou can'st guard ; 

But thy utmost duly done. 

Welcome what thou can'st not shun. 

Follies past, give thou to air. 

Make their consequence thy care . 

Keep the name of man in mind, 

And dishonour not thy kind. 

Reverence with lowly heart. 

Him whose wondrous work thou art ; 

Keep his goodness still in view, 

Thy trust — and thy example, too. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod, the Beadsman on Nithside. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 

One of the Poet's earliest friends. 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 
A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles, 
Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 
A land that prose did never view it. 
Except when drunk he stacher't thro-ugh it; 
Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek, 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
Euhusked by a fog infernal : 



MISCELLANEOUS. 541 

Here, for ray wonted rhyming raptures, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and spunk like itiier Christians, 

I'm dwindled down to mere existence, 

Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 

Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes.* 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride! 

Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 

And ay a westlin leuk she throws. 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose ! 

Was it for this, wi' canny care, 

Thou bure the Bard through many a shire T 

At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 

And late or early never grumbled? — 

O, had I power like inclination, 

I'd heeze thee up a constellation. 

To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loup the ecliptic like a bar ; 

Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 

Or, when auld Phebus bids good-morrow, 

Down the zodiac urge the race, 

And cast dirt on his godship's face; 

For I could lay my bread and kail 

He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 

Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 

And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 

And nought but peat reek i' my head, 

How can I write what ye can read'? — ■ 

Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 

Ye'U find me in a better tune ; 

But till we meet and weet our whistle, 

Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

RoBEUT Burns. 



• Kib mure. 



642 BURNS' POEMS. 



TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. 

He was gteward to tha Duke of Qiieensberry, and a warm friend 
of the Poet. 

O, COULD I give thee India's wealth. 

As 1 this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take wiiat gold could never buy — 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS. 

Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray : 
No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of care, 
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair! 
O, may no son the father's lionour stain. 
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain ! 



THE KIRK'S ALARM.* 

A BALLAD. 

[second version.] 

Orthodox, orthodox, 
Who believe in John Knox, 

Of tins piece Burns has "•iven the following account, in a letter 
to Graham of Fintray :— * Thoiiirli I dare say you have none of 
the Solemn League and Covenant fire which shone so conspicuous 
in Lord GeorgeGordon and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think 
you must have he.ifd of Dr. IM'Gill, one of the clerg-ymeu of Ayr, 
and his heretical book. God help him, poor man ! I'houofh he ig 
one of the worthie.st, as well as one of the ablest of the' whole 
priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that am- 
biguous term, yet fhe poor Doctor and his numerous family arc in 
Imminent danger of beinjj thrown out C9th December, 1790) to the 



MISCELLANEOUS. 543 

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience — • 

There's a heretic blast, 

Has been blawn i' the wast. 
That what is not sense must be nonsense. 

Orthodox, 
That what is not sense must be nonsense. 

Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac 

Ye should stretch on a rack. 
To strike evil-doers \vi' terror j 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon any pretence. 
Was heretic damnable error. 

Doctor Mac, 
Was heretic damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was rash 1 declare. 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the church's relief. 
And orator Bob is its ruin. 

Town of Ayr, 
And orator Bob is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 
Tho' your heart's like a child. 
And your life like the new-driven snaw. 
Yet that winna save ye, 
Old Satan must have ye 

mercy of tlie winter winds. The enclosed ballad on that busine»i 
is, I confess, too local ; but I laughed myself at some conceits in 
it, though 1 am convinced in my conscience that there are a good 
many heavy stanzas in it, too.' 

To another correspondent the Poet says :—' Whether in the 
way of my trade 1 can be of any service to the Rev. Doctor is, I 
fear, very doubtful. Ajax' shield consisted, I think, of seven 
bull-hides and a plate of brass, which altog-ether set Hector's 
utmost force at defiance. Alas! 1 am not a Hector, and the 
worthy Doctor's foes are as securely armed us Ajax was. Igno- 
rance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, malevolence, self conceit, 
envy,— all strongly bound in a massy frame of brazen impudence.' 



544 BURNS' POEMS. 

For preaching that three's ane an' twa, 
D'rymple mild. 
For preaching that three's ane an' twa. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 

Seize your spiritual guns, 
Ammunition ye never can need ; 

Your hearts are the stuff, 

Will be powder enough, 
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead 

Calvin's sons. 
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead 

Rumble John, Rumble John, 

Mount the steps with a groan, 
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd ; 

Then lug out your ladle, . 

Deal brimstone like aidle, 
And roar every note o' the damn'd, 

Rumble John, 
And roar every note o' the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James, 
Leave the fair Killie dames. 

There's a holier chase in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, 
That the pack ye'U soon lead. 

For puppies like you there's but few. 
Simper James, 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie, 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what danger awaits 1 

With a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm every soul, 
For Hannibal's just at your gates, 

Singet Sawnie, 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 545 

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk, 
Ye may slander the book. 
And the book nought the waur— let me tell you • 
Tho' yeVe rich and look big, ' 

Yet lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll hae a calfs-head 0' sma' value, 

Andrew Gowk, 
And ye'll hae a calfs-head o' sma' value. 

Poet Willie, Poet Willie, 

Gie the doctor a volley, 
Wi' your ' liberty's chain' and your wit ; 

O'er Pegasus' side. 

Ye ne'er laid a stride, 

Ye only stood by when he sh , 

Poet Willie, 
Ye only stood by when he sh . 

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie, 

What mean ye 1 what mean ye ? ■» 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter. 

Ye may hae some pretence man. 

To havins and sense man, 
Wi' people that ken you nae better, 

Barr Steenie, 
Wi people that ken you nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, 

Ye hae made but toom roose, 
O' hunting the wicked lieutenant; 

But the doctor's your mark. 

For the L— d's holy ark, 
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in'; 

Jamie Goose, 
Ke has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin m't. 

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, 
For a saunt if ye muster. 



546 BURNS' POEMS. 

It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, 
Yet to worth let's be just. 
Royal blood ye might boast. 

If the ass were the king o' the brutes, 
Davie Bluster, 

If the ass were the king o' the brutes. 

Muirland George, Muirland George, 

Whom the Lord made a scourge, 
To claw common sense for her sins ; 

If ill manners were wit. 

There's no mortal so fit, 
To confound the poor doctor at ance, 

Muirland George, 
To confound the poor doctor at ance 

Cessnockside, Cessnockside, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
O' manhood but sma' is your share ; 

Ye've the figure, it's true. 

Even our faes maun allow, 
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair, 

Cessnockside, 
And your friends daurna sae ye hae mair, 

Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld 

There's a tod i' the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; 

Tho' ye downa do skaith, 

Ye'U be in at the death. 
And if ye canna bite ye can bark, 

Daddie Auld, 
And if ye canna bite ye can bark. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 
Wi' your priest-skelping turns. 
Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
Tho' your Muse is a gipsy. 
Yet were she even tipsy, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 547 

She could ca' us nae waur than we are, 

Poet Burns, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Af ton's Laird, Afton's Laird, 

W hen your pen can be spared, 
A copy o' this I bequeath. 

On the same sicker score 

I mentioned before, 
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith, 
Afton's Laird, 
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith. 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. 

OF FINTRAY : 

ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN 

SIR JAMES JOHNSTON AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR 

THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

FiNTRAY, my Stay in worldly strife. 
Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle 's 1 am 1 
Come then, wi* uncouth, kintra fleg, 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him. 

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears 
Who left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlings; 
And, bent on winning borough towns, 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns, 

And kissincr barefit carlins. 



548 BURNS' POEMS. 

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad unmuzzled lions ; 
As Queensberry bufF and blue unfurl'd. 
And VVesterha' and Hopeton hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star ; 

Besides, he hated bleeding ; 
But left behind him heroes bright. 
Heroes in Caesarean fight, 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

O ! for a throat like huge Mons-meg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner | 
Heioes and heroines commix, 
All in the field of politics. 

To win immortal honour. 

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, 

(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the loves and graces : 
She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps. 
Tropes, metaphors and figures pour. 

Like Hecla streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins. 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs. 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought. 

Redoubted Staig,* who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory : 

* Provost Staig of Dumfries. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 64t 

And Welsh,* who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, 
High-waved his magnum-bonum round 
With Cyclopeian fury. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks. 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson'sf port entrench'd his hold. 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd. 
With these what Tory warriors clos'd. 

Surpasses my descriving : 
Squadrons extended long and large. 
With furious speed rush to the charge. 

Like raging devils driving. 

What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
Grim Horror girn'd — pale Terror roar'd. 
As Murther at his thrapple shor'd, 

And hell mix'd in the brulzie. 

As highland craigs by thunder cleft. 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift. 

Hurl down with crashing rattle : 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods, 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers : 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar. 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers. 

• Sheriff Welsh. t Lawson a wine merchant In Dumfrlefc 



650 BURNS' POEMS. 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night. 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, 

And think on former daring: 
The muffled murtherer* of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls, 

All deadly gules it's bearing. 

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 

Bold Scrimgeourf follows gallant Graham, J 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose ! 
Now death and hell engulf thy foes. 

Thou llv'st on high for ever !) 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The I'ories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But P'ate the word has spoken : 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can ! 

The Tory ranks are broken. 

O that my een were flowing burns. 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 

And furious Whigs pursuing! 

What Whig but melts for good Sir James! 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart, § bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ; 

And Melville melt in wailing ! 

* The executioner of Charles I. was masked. 

» Scrinigeour, Lord Dundee. X Graham, Marquisof Montroifc 

§ Stewart of Hillside. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 651 

How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, O Prince, arise, 
Thy power is all-prevailing • 

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely ! 
So, wKea the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends. 

And sober chirps securely. 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB 

TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 
First published In the Scots Magazine for February, 1818. 

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors ; 
Lord grant nae duddie desperate beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
May twin auld Scotland o' a life 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith, you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight, 
I doubt na' ! they wad bid nae better 
Than let them ance out owre the water ; 
Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak' what rules and laws they please; 
Some daring Hancocke, or a Franklin, 
May'set their Highland bluid a ranklin' ; 
Some Washington again may head them, 
Or some Montgomery fearless lead them, 
Till God knows what may be effected 
When by such heads and hearts directed — 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! 



552 BURNS' POEM.S. 

Nae saye North, now, nor sager Sackville, 

To watch and premier o'er the pack vile, 

An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 

To bring them to a right repentance. 

To cowe the rebel generation. 

An' save the honour o' the nation 1 

They an' be d d I what right hae they 

To meat or sleep, or light o' day? 
Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom, 
But what your lordship likes to gie them 1 

But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, near ! 

Your hand's owre light on them, I fear ; 

Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 

I canna' say but they do gaylies ; 

They lay aside a' tender mercies. 

An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 

Yet while they're only poind't and herriet. 

They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit; 

But smash them ! crash them a* to spails ! 

An' rot the dyvors i' the jails ! 

The young dogs, swinge them to the labour j 

Let wark an' hunger mak'them sober ! 

The hizzies, if they're aughtlins fawsont, 

Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 

An* if the wives an' dirty brats 

E'en thigger at your doors an' yetts 

Flaffan wi' duds an' grey wi' beas', 

Frightin' av/a your deucks an' geese. 

Get out a horsewhip or a jowler. 

The langest thong, the fiercest growler. 

An gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 

Wi' a' their bastarts on their back ! 

Go on, my lord ! I lang to meet you. 

An' in my house at hame to greet you ; 

Wi* common lords ye shanna mingle. 

The benmost neuk beside the ingle. 



MISCELLANPJOUS. 568 

At ray right han' assign'd your seat 
Tween Herod's hip an Po'.ycrate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow. 
Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
A seat, I'm sure ye 're weel deservin't ; 
An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 

Beelzebub. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR* 
With Pegasus upon a day 

Apollo weary Aying, 
Through frosty hills the journey lay. 

On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker j 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes. 

To get a frosty calker. 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work. 
Threw by his coat and bonnet. 

And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead- 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I'll pay you like my master. 

Robert Burns. 

* Thefe verses were written, to induce a blacksmith to proceed 
at OQce to sharpen his horse's shoes,' as the roads had become 
BUppery with ice. The blacli!.mith is said to have lived tinny 
yearsaltertosay that he had never been • weei paid but ance, 
and that was by a Poet, who paj.l him in money, paid him in 
anuk, and paid him in verse.' 



2 B 



554 BURNS' POEMS. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 

The E8opi\s of this epistle was Williamson, an actor, and tiie 
Maria to whom it is addressed was Mrs, Riddel. 

From those drear solitudes and frowzy cells, 
Where infamy with sad repentance dwells ; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin, 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar. 
Resolve to drmk, nay half to whore, no more ; 
Where tiny thieves not destin'd yet to swing, 
Beat hemp for others, riper for the string : 
From these dire scenes my wretched lines 1 date, 
To tell Blaria her Esopus' fate. 

' Alas ! I feel I am no actor here !' 

*Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear ! 

Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 

Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 

Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poU'd, 

By barber woven, and by barber sold, 

Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 

Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 

The hero of the mimic scene, no more 

I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 

Or haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, 

In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms , 

While sans culottes stoop up the mountain high. 

And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 

Bless'd Highland bonnet ! Once my proude* 

dress. 
Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 
I see her wave thy towering plumes afar. 
And call each coxcomb to the wordy war. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 555 

I see her face the first of Ireland's sons,* 

And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ; 

The crafty colonelt leaves the tartan'd lines. 

For other wars, where he a hero shines : 

The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, 

Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head ; 

Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs to display, 

That veni, vidi, lAci, is his way ; 

The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks. 

And dreads a meeting worse thanWoolwich hulks ; 

Though tliere his heresies in church and state 

Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 

Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, 

And dares the public like a noontide sun. 

(What scandal called Maria's janty stagger. 

The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ? 

Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns's venom whea 

He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen,— 

And pours his vengeance in the burning line. 

Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre divine ; 

The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 

And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 

Who call'd her verse, a parish workhouse made 

For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or stray'd 1) 

A workhouse ! ah that sound awakes my woes, 
And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 
In durance vile here must 1 wake and weep. 
And all my frowzy couch in sorrow steep ; 
That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 
And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour, 
Must earth no rascal save thyself endure 1 
Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell 
And make a vast monopoly of hell 1 

• Gillftspto. t Col. M'Dowai. 



5«6 BURNS' POEMS. 

Thou know'st, the virtues cannot hate thee worse, 

The vices also, must they club their curse 1 

Or must no tiny sin to others fall. 

Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all 1 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 
As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, 
Who on my fair-one satire's vengeance hurls ? 
Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette, 
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit? 
Who says that fool alone is not thy due. 
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true 1 
Our force united on thy foes we'll turn, 
And dare the war with all of woman born : 
For who can write and speak as thou and 1 1 
My periods that decyphering defy, 
And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all 
reply. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE 

IN A FAVOURITE CHAnACTER. 

Sweet nalvet^ of feature. 
Simple, wild, enchanting elf. 

Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
Thou art acting but thyself. 

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 
Spurning nature, torturing art ; 

Loves and graces all rejected, 
Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. 

R. B. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 657 



THE HERON BALLADS. 

[ballad first.] 

These were written a« election squibs to serve Patrick Heroi^ 
Es(^ of Kerroughtree, at two contested elections. 

Whom will you send to London town, 

To Parliament and a* that ? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Thro' Galloway and a' that ; 
Where is the laird or belted knight 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 

Wha sees Kerroughtree 's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that 1 

Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree meets 

And has a doubt of a' that 1 

For a' that, and a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ; 
The independent patriot, 
The honest man, an' a' that. 

Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix. 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk. 
And its against the law that ; 
aB2 



658 BURNS' POEMS. 

For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
For a* that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hiJls, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 

For a' that, an' a' that ! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' sold 
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be, 

For weel he's worthy a' that. 

For a' that, and a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as he, 
They would be blost that saw that. 



THE ELECTION. 
[ballad second.] 

Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 

For there will be bickerin' there ; 
For Murray's light-horse are to muster. 

And O, how the heroes will swear ! 
An* there will be Muriay commander, 

And Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 



^ 



MISCELLANEOUS. 669 

An' there will be black-lippit Johnnie, 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
An he get nae hell for his haddin' 

The deil gets nae justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 

A boy no sae black at the bane, 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune, 

We'el e'en let the subject alane. 
' An* there will be Wigton's new sheriff, 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped. 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 

But, Lord, what's become o' the head ? 
An' there will be Cardoness' Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A wight that will weather damnation. 

For the devil the prey will despise. 
An' there will be Douglasses doughty, 

New christening towns far and near 
Abjuring their democrat doings, 

By kissing the — o' a peer ; 
An there will be Kenmure sae gen rous, 

Whose honour is proof to the storm, 
To save them from stark reprobation. 

He lent them his name to the firm. 

But we winna mention Redcastle, 

The body e'en let him escape ! 
He'd venture the gallows for siller. 

An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
An' where is our king's lord lieutenant 

Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return 1 
The billie is gettin' his questions, 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 
Muirhead wha's as gude as he's true ; 

An' there will be Buittle's apostle, 

Wha's more o' the black than the blue ; 



500 BURNS' POEMS. 

An' there will be folk from St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note. 
The deil ane but honours them highly, — 

The deil ane will gie them his vote ! 
An' there will be wealthy young Richard, 

Dame Fortune should hing by the neck ; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing^ 

His merit had won him respect : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 

Though nabobs, yet men of the first. 
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers. 

An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie, 

Tak tent how ye purchase a dram j 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam , 
An there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 

Whose honour was ever his law, 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 
An' can we forget the auld major, 

Wha'U ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other. 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An* there will be maiden Kilkerran, 

And also Barskimming's gude knight, 
An* there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

Wha luckily roars in the right. 

An' there, frae the Niddisdale's borders. 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves ; 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an* Walie, 

That griens for the fishes an' loaves ; 
An' there vvdll be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there. 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 



MISCELL.VNEOUS. 661 

Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton, 

An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 

In Sodom 'twould make him a king ; 
A.a' hey for the sanctified M y. 

Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd_; 
He founder'd his horse among harlots. 

But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG 

[ballad third.] 

Tune — Buy broom besoms. 

Wha will buy my troggin. 

Fine election ware ; 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair. 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown, 
For an auld song — 

It's thought the gudes were stowa. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughton 

In a needle's ee ; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint by Balmaghie. 

Buy braw troggin, &c 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald— 

So was never worn. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 



562 BURNS' POEIHS. 

Here's its stuff and lining, 

Cardoness' head ; 
Fine for a sodger 

A' 1;he wale o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin, &«- 

Here's a little wadset 
Buittle's scrap o' truth, 

Pawn'd in a gin-shop 
Quenching holy drouth. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse o' Urr ; 

The crest, an auld crab-apple 
Rotten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizzard gled. 
Pouncing poor Redcastle 

Sprawlin' as a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 

Collieston can boast : 
By a thievish mjdge 

They had been nearly lost. 

Buy braw tioggin, &e 

Here is Murray's fragments 
O' the ten commands ; 

Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 

Buy braw troggia, &e. 

Saw ye e'er sic trogginl 
If to buy ye're slack, 

Mornie's turnin' chapman, — 
He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin, tte. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 5^3 

TO A KISS. 
Humid seal of soft afTections, 

Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, 
Dearest tie of young coanections. 

Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss. 
Speaking silence, dumb confession, 

Passion's birth, and infant's plav. 
Dove-like fondness, chaste concession. 

Glowing dawn of brighter day. 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action. 

When ling'ring lips no more must join. 

What words can ever speak affection 
So thrilling and sincere as thine ! 

VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT 
GRIEF. 

-hll'i'Jl^'i^Ij^" *^^^ P"?^''" circumstances were so embarrassed. 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 
Wad on thy worth be pressin' ; 

Remembrance oft may start a tear. 

But oh ! that tenderness forbear. 
Though 'twad my sorrows lessen. 

My morning raise sae clear and fair, 
I thought sair storms wad never 

Bedew the scene ; but grief and care 

In wildest fury hae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever ! 

You think I'm glad ; oh, I pay weel. 

For a' the joy I borrow. 
In solitude— then, then I feel 
I canna to mysel' conceal 

My deeply ranklin' sorrow. 



664 JtURNS' POEMS, 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee, 
For Scotia's son — ance gay like thee— 

Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken ! 



THE HERMIT. 

Written on a marble sideboard, in the hermitage belonging to 
tlie dulie of A thole, in tlie wood of Aberfeldy. 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading, 
Think not, though from the world receding, 
I joy my lonely days to lead in 

This desert drear; 
That fell remorse a conscience bleeding 

Hath led me here. 

No thought of guilt my bosoin sours; 
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers ; 
For well I saw in halls and towers 

That lust and pride. 
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers, 

In state preside. 

I saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
1 saw that honour's sword was rusted ; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That he was still deceived who trusted 

To love or friend ; 
And hither came, with men disgusted. 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly. 

Alike a foe to noisy folly. 

And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, 

1 wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 665 

Tins rock my shield, when storms arc blowing, 
'J"he lunpi'.l streamlet yonder flowing 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 

This grot, than e'er I felt before in 

A palace — and with thoughts still soaring 

To God on high, 
Each night and morn, with voice imploring, 

This wish I sigh : — 

" Let me, oh Lord ! from life retire, 
Unknown each guilty worldly fire. 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God 1 fly." 

Stranger, if full of youth and riot. 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 

The hermit's prayer — 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care ; 

If thou hast known false love's vexation. 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 

And makes thee pine, 
Oh, how must thou lament thy station ! 

And envy mine ! 

TO MY BED. 

Thou bed, in which I first began 
To be that various creature — Man I 
And when again the Fates decree, 
The place where I must cease to be ;— 



566 BURNS' POEMS 

When sickness comes, to whom I fly. 
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye,— 
When cares surround me, v/here I weep» 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; — 
When sore with labour, whom I court, 
And to thy downy breast resort; — 
Where, too, ecstatic joys I find, 
When deigns my Delia to be kind— 
And full of love, in all her charms, 
Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms. 
The centre thou — where grief and pain, 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy little space. 
So many various scenes take place ; 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach, 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach ; 
And man, convinced by thee alone. 
This great important truth shall own :— 
" That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside ; 
That nought is perfect here below ; 
But BLISS still bordering upon woe." 



THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 

Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 

I watna what's the name o't; 
Around it a' the patriots dance, 

Weel Europe kens the fame o't. 
It stands where ance the Bastile stood, 

A prison built by kings, man, 
When Superstition's hellish brood 

Kept France in leading strings, man, 

Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, 
Its virtues a' can tell, man ; 

It raises man aboon the brute. 
It maks him ken himsel', man. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 567 

Gif ance the peasant taste a bit. 

He's greater than a lord, man. 
And wi' the beggar shares a mite 

O* a' he can afford, man. 

This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth, 

To comfort us 'twas sent, man : 
To gie the sweetest blush o' health. 

And mak. us a' content, man. 
It clears the een, it cheers the heart, 

Maks high and low gude friends, man ; 
And he wha acts the traitor's part. 

It to perdition sends, man. 

My blessings aye attend the chiel, 

Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man, 
And staw'd a branch, spite o' the deil, 

Frae yont the western waves, man. 
Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. 

And now she sees wi' pride, man, 
How weel it buds and blossoms there, 

Its branches spreading wide, man. 

But vicious folk aye hate to see 

The works o' Virtue thrive, man ; 
The courtly vermin's banned the tree, 

And grat to see it thrive, man ; 
King Loui' thought to cut it down. 

When it was unco sma', man ; 
For this the watchman crack'd his crown. 

Cut afF his head and a', man. 

A wicked crew syne, on a time. 

Did tak a solemn aith, man. 
It ne'er should flourish to its prime, 

I wat they pledged their faith, man; 
Awa they gaed wi' mock parade. 

Like beagles huntmg game, man. 
But soon grew weary o' the trade. 

And wish'd they'd been at hame, man* 



BURNS' POEMS. 

For Freedom, standing by the tree. 

Her sons did loudly ca', man ; 
She sang a sang o' liberty, 

Which pleased them ane and a', mao^ 
By her inspired, the new-born race 

Soon drew the avenging steel, man ; 
The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase. 

And bang'd the despot weel, man. 

Let Britain boast her hardy oak, 

Her poplar and her pine, man, 
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke. 

And o'er her neighbours shine, man : 
But seek the forest round and round, 

And soon 'twill be agreed, man. 
That sic a tree can not be found, 

'Twixt London and the Tweed, man. 

Without this tree, alake this life. 

Is but a vale o' woe, man ; 
A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 

Nae real joys we know, man. 
We labour soon, we labour late, 

To feed the titled knave, man ; 
And a* the comfort we're to get. 

Is that ayont the grave, man. 

Wi* plenty o' sic trees, I trow. 

The warld would live in peace, man ; 
The sword would help to mak a plough, 

The din o' war wad cease, man. 
Like b' ,.hren in a common cause. 

We'd on each other smile, man ; 
And equal rights and equal laws 

Wad gladden every isle, man. 

Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat 
Sic halesome dainty cheer, man ; 

I'd gie my shoon frae afF my feet. 
To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 569 

Syne let us pray, auld England may 

'Sure plant this far-famed tree, man j 
And blythe we'll sing, and hail the day 
That gave us liberty, man. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE POET'S 
DAUGHTER. 

Tnese tender and affecting lines were written, it is said, oa th« 
deatti of iiis child in 1795. 

On sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave. 

My dear little angel, for ever ; 
For ever — oh no ! let not man be a slave. 

His hopes from existence to sever. 

Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st thy 
head, 

In the dark silent mansions of sorrow, 
The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed, 

Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. 

The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph 
form. 
Ere tlie spoiler had nipt thee in blossom. 
When <hou shrunk frae the scowl of the loud 
winter storm. 
And nestled thee close to that bosom. 

Oh still I behold thee, all lovely in death. 
Reclined on the lap of thy mother. 

When the tear trickled bright, wi .in the short 
stiHed breath. 
Told how dear ye were aye to each other. 

My child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest. 
Where suffering no longer can harm ye, 

Where the songs of the good, where the hymns of 
the blest, 
Through an endless existence shall charm thee* 



570 BURNS' POEMS. 

While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojourn. 
Through the dire desert regions of sorrow, 

O er the hope and misfortune of being to mourn 
And sigh for this life's latest morrow. 



ON THE SAME. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 

BlaPted before its bloom ; 
Whose innocence did sweets disclose 

Beyond that flower's perfume. 
To those who for her loss are grieved, 

This consolation's given — 
She's from a world of woe relieved. 

And blooms a rose in heaven. 



VERSES ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE 
WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIG. 

♦The duke of Qiieensberry stripped his domains of Drumlan- 
rig- in Dumfriesshire, and Neidpath in Peeblesshire, of all the 
wood fit for being cut, in order to enrich tne countess of Yar- 
mouth, whom he supposed to be his daujrhter, and to whom, by 
a sinsrular piece of good fortune on her part, Mr. George Selwj'n, 
the celebrated wit, also left a fortune, under the same, and pro- 
bably equally mistaken impression.' — Chambers, 

As on the banks o' wandering Nitb, 

Ae smiling simmer-morn I stray'd. 
And traced its bonnie howes and haughs. 

Where Unties sang and lambkins play'd, 
I sat me down upon a craig. 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream. 
When, from the eddying deep below. 

Uprose the Genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow. 
And troubled, like his wintry wave. 

And deep, as sughs the boding wind 
Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave— 



MISCELLANEOUS. 
'And came ye here, my son,' he cried, 

' To wander in my birken shade ? 
To mu«e some favourite Scottish theme, 
Or sing some favourite Scottish maid-? 
' The?e was a time, it's nae lang syne. 
Ye might hae seen me in my pride. 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 
Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading elm 
Shaded my stream sae dear and cool ; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the pool : 
' When glinting, through the trees, appear'd 

The wee white cot aboon the mill. 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek. 
That slowly curled up the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld. 

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane. 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane.' 
' Alas!' said I, 'what ruefu' chance 

Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees? 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripp'd the deeding o' your braes ? 
Was it the bitter eastern blast. 

That scatters blight in early spring? 
Or was't the wil'fire scorch'd their boughs. 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?' 
' Nae eastlin blast,' the sprite replied ; 
' It blew na here sae fierce and fell, 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell: 
Man! cruel man!' the Genius sigh'd — 

As through the cliffs he sank him down— 
•The worm that gnaw'd my bonnie trees, 
That reptile wears a ducal crown.' 



671 



572 BURNS' POEMS. 



THE BOOKWORMS. 

Written inasplendidly bound, but worm-eaten, copy of Sha'wpeaM, 
the property of a nobleman. 

Through and through the inspired leaves. 
Ye maggots, make your windings; 

But, oh I respect his lordship's taste. 
And spare his golden bindings. 

LINES ON STIRLING. 
Written on a pane of plass, on visiting this ancient sea. of 
Royalty, in 17S7. 
Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd, 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd; 
But now xmroof d their palace stands. 
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands ; 
The injured Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills their throne. 

THE REPROOF. 
The lines on Stirling were considered imprudent by one of th* 
Poet's friends, when he immediately wrote the ' Reproof* 
underneath. 
Hash mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name 
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame ; 
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like 

the Bible, 
Says the more 'tis a ti-uth, Sir, the more 'tis a libel? 

THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON. 
As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in 't but few ; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a* be het ere I come back. 

THE LEAGUE AND COVENANT. 
Thto was spoken in reply to one who sneered at the suflerlngi 
of Scotland for conscience' sake. 
The Solemn League and Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears : 
But it seal'd freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers 



MISCELLANEOUS. 673 

INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware! 

Nay, more — there is danger in touching; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 

The man and his wine's sae bewitching 1 

THE TOAD-EATER. 
Spoken in reply to one who was talking largely of his noble 

friends. 
What of earls with whom you have supt, 

And of dukes that you dined with yestreen? 
Lord ! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse. 
Though it crawl on the curls of a queen. 

THE SELKIRK GRACE. 

When on a visit to St. Mary's Isle, the Earl of Selkirk requested 
Burns to say grace at dinner; he complied in these words. 
Some hae meat, and canna eat, 

And some wad eat that want it ; 
But we hae meat and we can eat. 
And sae the Lord be thanket. 

ON A SUICIDE. 

Earth'd up bere lies an imp o' hell. 

Planted by Satan's dibble- 
Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel' 

To save the Lord the trouble. 

ON THE LATE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY. 
How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace — 
Discarded remnant of a race 

Once great in martial story? 
His forbears' virtues all contrasted — 
The very name of Douglas blasted — 

His that inverted glory. 
Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore; 
But he has superadded more. 

And sunk them in contempt; 
Follies and crimes have stain'd the name. 
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim. 

From aught that's good exempt. 



674 H URNS' POEMS. 



IMPROMPTU ON WILLIE STEWART. 

These verses were written on a itiinbler which was in the posses* 
sion of the late Sir Waiter Scott. 

You're welcome, Willie Stewart, 
You're welcome, Willie Stewart; 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, 
That's half sae welcome's thou art. 

Come, bumpers high, express your joy, 

The bowl we maun renew it; 
The tappit-hen gae bring her ben. 

To welcome Willie Stewart. 

May foes be Strang, and friends be slack. 

Ilk action may he rue it ; 
May woman on him turn her back. 

That M-rangs thee, Willie Stewart. 



WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, 
On the occasion of a national Thaniisgiving for a Naval Victory, 

Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? — 
To murder men, and gie God thanks I 
For shame .' gie o'er, proceed no further — 
God won't accept your thanks for murtherl 

A GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 
O Thou, in whom we live and move. 

Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 
Thy goodness constantly we prove. 

And grateful would adore. 
And if it please thee, pow'r above. 

Still grant us, with such store. 
The friend we trust, the fair we love. 

And we desire no more. 

EPITAPH ON MR. W. CRUICKSHANKS. 
Honest Will's to Heaven gane. 
And mony shall lament him; 
His faults they a' in Latin lay. 
In English nana e'er kent them* 



MISCELLANEOUS. - S7i 

EPITAPH ON W 

Stop thief! dame Nature cried to Death> 
As Willie drew his latest breath ; 
You have my choicest model taen, 
How shall I make a fool again? 

ON THE SAME. 

Rest gently, turf, upon his breast, 
Hid chicken heart's so tender ; — 
But rear huge castles on his head 
His Bcull will prop them under. 



THE £NU 



M^i"^ 



